


Where The Quiet Snakes Hide

by Zelda_FR



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Romance, Bullying, Dark, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Heavy Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Loneliness, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, M/M, Multi, Redemption, References to Depression, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Threats of Violence, Triggers, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-08-20 15:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16558352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelda_FR/pseuds/Zelda_FR
Summary: Three months after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry returns to the castle for a final year to get his N.E.W.T.s before moving on with his life.Despite support from his friends and his girlfriend, Harry struggles to find his purpose since Voldemort's death. He chooses to worry about Malfoy instead, to everybody's surprise and consternation, including his own.Meanwhile, Draco is forced to return to Hogwarts as part of his sentence by the Ministry, and has to fight battles of his own. His broken family expects him to raise the Malfoy's reputation from the ashes, but everybody despises him. His old friends, turned enemies, engage in relentless bullying; and the others students as well as some teachers turn a blind eye to his ordeal.Weakened and isolated, he turns to another student, the secretive Astoria (original character) to relieve his loneliness, but she also bears secrets of her own.Every day, despite their differences, the same question haunts them: how will they ever make it outside these walls if they can't even make it here?The three of them are about to embark on an emotional journey that threatens to shatter everything they thought they knew about each other, and about themselves.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> **Before you read...  
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> Dear lovely Readers,
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> The following was one of the first chapters of a fan-fiction concept of mine that had been gnawing at me for years. At the time of publication, only a few chapters were written.  
> I had decided to write it for myself as a mean to improve my English. However, I've decided to publish an extract here and thanks to a few readers' enthusiasm, decided to continue it. 
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>    
> Please be forgiving, as starting from Chapter 6 you'll be getting freshly written content which may include typos and clunky sentences.  
> I will edit the whole work again as I go and after completion.  
> Happy reading. 
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> Z.
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>  **This story is for you if:  
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>  You enjoy darker Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy fan-fictions, slow-paced, exploring serious themes and heavy on character development.
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> **This story is not for you if:  
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>  You're expecting Harry/Draco fluff with lots of sweetness. Those stories are awesome, but this is not one of them.
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>  **Who is Astoria?  
> **  
>  The Astoria present in this book is not canon, as you'll notice. She wasn't even named Astoria when I came up with the story years ago, but I've changed her first name after learning about Draco's life post Hogwarts.  
> In this story Astoria is one year younger than Harry and Draco (instead of two, which she should be), for the simple purpose of fitting her in the same classes and making her part of the narrative.  
> Finally, you'll find differences with the canon, including events during the Fifth year and the Battle of Hogwarts. For instance, in my text, Molly did not kill Bellatrix, another person did. However I'm trying to make everything as plausible as possible for your entertainment.  
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> Finally, I haven't read or seen The Cursed Child (though I know its plot) nor have I watched the Fantastic Beasts movies (I will, after I write this). So this fan-fiction might not fit in their universe.

PROLOGUE

 

 

Draco explored the Room of Hidden Things, ablaze with Fiendfyre fury. He walked the burning path, but didn’t feel the lick of pain. He wandered at a deliberate pace, explored the aisles with slow steps.

He knew he had time.

In the distance, he heard a blood-curdling scream. Crabbe was gone. The fire consumed everything; objects of all sorts were blown into the air, but Draco didn’t hear much, as though he was trudging under water.

Finally, he stopped, looked up.

He saw himself, atop a tower of blackened desks, clutching Goyle to his chest. He remembered when he thought, for a fleeting moment, that it would be fine to let it happen.

To rest.

He watched himself let go of Goyle. His friend was soon engulfed by flames, a frozen smile on his face.

And then _he_ came.

He descended from the skies, his face scrunched up in concentration, his mad hair flapping, and came to an abrupt halt before him.

Harry Potter.

Draco leaped off his crumbling tower and landed lightly on Harry’s broom. His saviour smelled of fear, sweat, smoke, and the sea.

Now he felt it.

The blinding terror.

Draco tightened his grip around his enemy’s waist, his fingers digging into Harry’s flesh. The flames were everywhere, bearing the faces of monsters he knew.

He knew he was dreaming. Dreams were all that was left.

Good dreams, bad dreams.

This dream.


	2. Astoria - 1 - The Boy In The Hat

 

THE BOY IN THE HAT.

 

 

Draco Malfoy was fidgeting with the hat in his hands as he stepped through the door. Astoria waited silently. She knew he wanted to speak and was grateful not to have to engage in random small talk.

“How have you been?” He sounded hesitant.

“I’ve been well, thank you.”

She gazed at him politely. He bit his lip, looked as if he was waiting for her to ask him the same thing. She didn’t.

“Tea?” he said after a while. With one swift movement of the wrist, he produced a smoking teapot and a mismatched assortment of cups and saucers. They landed heavily on her heavy coffee table. He grimaced at his own poor work. She said nothing.

She invited him to sit with a plain gesture, her lips still sealed. The sofa was crumbling under the weight of books that she imagined his father, not so long ago, would have considered Dark Arts classics. On top of it was a magazine of interior design. Draco sat and gave it a quick glance.

“So, I’ve been well, also. Sort of.”

He choked on the last word and cleared his throat, lifting a very pale fist to his mouth. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, you know, for _last time_. And I didn’t know if you were planning on going back to school.” His head shot up. “Are you going back to school?”

She almost smiled. What was that? Fondness? Could she feel anything other than pity for him? Perhaps it was. It made her frown.

“I will, I think. I… Personally, I always liked school.” She sighed. “Anyway, my mother insists I go.”

He nodded, a strained smile on his face. Mentioning her mother seemed to make him uneasy. She thought nothing of it. She was used to pretending there was no one in her life.

“How’s your mother?” Draco asked. His fists were clenched on his lap, and a pearl of sweat was forming at his brow. Having a conversation with her obviously made him ill. She did her best not to take it personally.

“She’s away again.” Astoria shrugged. “She was never a very good mother.”

He shifted in his seat and nodded again. She was aware that it made people uncomfortable, her apparent lack of feelings. She forced herself to smile. It felt odd.

“What about you, Draco? Are you going back to school, since you’re not going to prison?”

She saw a flicker of panic in his eyes, and the pale shade of pink that had tinted his cheeks vanished as she spoke. But he recomposed himself quickly. He always was a good Occlument. Not as good as her, she decided with arrogance, but brilliant nonetheless.

“Yes. My mother insists as well.” He sighed and stared at his feet. “Everyone will hate me.”

She agreed but said nothing. That wasn’t her problem. She was only one of many that helped save his life during the war. If he was not Harry Potter’s responsibility, he definitely was not hers.

They both struggled against the awkwardness weighing on them like a heavy fog in the dusty room. He picked up his cup and sipped his tea, giving her frantic looks in the process. She glanced everywhere but at him, hoped that he would take his leave soon. He finally put the cup down.

“Is your mother really _the_ Raven Winterburns?” Curiosity flashed in his grey eyes.

Her throat made a small acquiescing sound and she picked up a flowery cup. “You know she is. You made fun of it at school, on several occasions. You were rather persistent.”

He shook his head, frowning like he was trying to push an embarrassing memory away.

“I was a real… you know,at school. I wish I’d been nicer to you now.”

She didn’t know what to reply to that. She drank her tea in silence. He looked so dejected. She wouldn’t be a good hostess if she let him suffer that way, she decided.

“You want to know if my mother really killed her parents?”

He looked up expectantly, unable to hide his curiosity. She smiled faintly and put the cup down.

“She did.”

He sighed as if relieved. It didn’t make sense to her. Then he burst into nervous laughter and she felt an embarrassing heat tingle her cheeks.

Draco recomposed himself. “My parents always said it was a pity that the last Pure-Bloods families were set to destroy each other. The Winterburns were one of the last old families, and your mother put an end to it. I couldn’t believe it was true, and after everything they said to me, all those things that weren’t true…” He let his sentence die with an absent smile.

“The worse things are almost always true,” she said.

His smile vanished; he nodded reverently.“So… you’re a Winterburns. The line isn’t dead after all.”

“It isn’t. But I’m not a man, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“And your father” — he looked around as if he expected to find him hiding behind the sofa— “do you know where your father is?”

She gave him a proper smile. “You want to know if I’m Pureblood, so just get on with it and ask me.”

He blushed, stared into his empty cup. “Are you?”

“Why does it matter anyway?”

“You’re a Slytherin.” He looked up. She saw sadness in his eyes. “I don’t even know what else to talk about.”

She screwed her eyes shut and thought of her father, and the absurdity of her existence. What did she have to lose anyway?

“I’m one of them. A true Pure-Blood. And probably an inbred, just like the rest of us.”

A kind of ferocious glee flushed his cheeks, and he jumped to his feet. Her eyes widened. He saw her surprise and stuck his hands in his pockets, embarrassed.

She watched him with interest as he paced around the room. Then her curiosity gave way to mild irritation. She worried that if she said anything, she wouldn’t know what he was so happy about, so she decided to keep silent.

At last, he sat down and asked: “Are you seeing anyone?”

She thought someone cursed her: her mouth went dryer than an old piece of parchment.

“W-what?”

He turned crimson, got to his feet, and dashed toward the exit. She remained still and speechless. He'd already opened the front door when she thought it best to go after him.

“Wait.”

He hid his face under his ridiculously large hat. It hit her how vulnerable he looked then.

“I’ve never seen you with anyone,” he said, averting her eyes.

She looked around. Her commodities were in the middle of nowhere, and there was no one around but a bunch of grumpy ravens who established their homes here way before she was born.

“It’s true. I never see anyone.”

“I know, I—“ He was restless beneath his ugly hat, his eyes darting left and right like a threatened rodent.

She might not have an ideal life, but at least she never had to hide her face in public. For the first time in her life, she found she was luckier than Draco Malfoy.

She decided then: “I’ll find you on the train.”

He let out a relieved sigh that almost sounded like laughter. She saw in his eyes that he was grateful. He disappeared with a loud pop and the raven perched on her roof screeched at her.

She chewed on her lip, unsure of what to make of any of this.

 


	3. Harry - 1 - Homecoming

 

HOMECOMING

 

 

 “Here he is! Our hero!”

Harry smiled at them, a beaming smile that stretched his features until he couldn’t feel his face anymore. People tugged at his clothes as he made his way toward the castle. Ron, Hermione and Ginny formed a safe wall around him.

He reached the top of the stairs amidst the sound of hundreds of students and their teachers cheering. Near him, McGonagall clapped the loudest, and he cast her his most genuine smile. He felt a warm hand wrap around his own.

Ginny.

“Our prodigal son returns!” Slughorn’s voice boomed over everyone else’s.

Harry felt the heat of embarrassment burn his cheeks, and already wished for the solitude of his dormitory. Waiting for the acclamations to die down, he wondered if he would get his old dormitory back. There was not much else in his mind.

Harry should have been used to speeches and public cheering, but he wasn’t, and if he understood the need for them, he wasn’t a true believer in them either. 

“It’s like I saved the world or something,” he muttered, leaning towards Ginny.

She elbowed him in the ribs. “You did, you git.”

She laughed. He stared at her for a moment. The wind blew a strand of her hair into her twinkling eyes; her cute freckles were only made better by her amused smile.

She was so beautiful, he thought. She looked perfect.

Ron and Hermione stood a few feet back, politely listening to Slughorn’s manic praise of Harry. Like they just happened to be there, as if they were not as responsible as him for the outcome of the war.

Harry stretched his neck, looking for Neville, and Luna, and all the others who were there, with him, and lucky enough to come out alive.No one was giving speeches about them, he thought bitterly. And yet, according to him, _they_ were the heroes.

A few months ago, he died. Some ancient magic brought him back. Love and Horcruxes and what not. But many of his friends didn’t get to hop on that train. Where was Fred? Where were Tonks, Lupin, Colin, all the others? Where was Sirius? Dumbledore?

Even Snape?

Astonished to find himself staring ahead of this crowd, wishing to see his old professor’s vulture-like features, he smiled to himself. Slughorn, now panting, was still going on with his speech. Everyone was beaming. Hermione smiled fondly at Harry, who blushed and looked away. He didn’t intend to let her know that he wasn’t listening to a word a professor was saying.

He spotted, in the very back of the crowd, a lanky shadow who appeared to want to disappear as much as him, but obviously for different reasons.

Malfoy.

Skinnier than ever from the look of his pale white neck, and threatened to be blown away by the unforgiving wind, but free after all. Harry spoke for him and his mother at their trials and saved them a trip to Azkaban. His testimony helped the jury lean one way… And so did Malfoy’s father’s money, Harry recalled. Lucius’s generous contributions to repair damages all around the country were welcomed a little bit too warmly.

That didn’t save him a trip to the wizard prison, though. Not this time.

His eyes still fixed on Draco, Harry remembered how tiny he looked at the trial. The dark circles around his eyes, his resignation when he sat on the chairs and the shackles wrapped themselves around his father and his mother’s wrists, then his own. Malfoy didn’t seem to be listening to what was happening in the courtroom at all, and Harry felt a strange prickling in his stomach. It was like staring at a car wreck on the side of the road. He knew he shouldn’t stare, and yet he couldn’t take his eyes off the carnage.

When he was mentioned by name, frail Draco didn’t flinch. His parents turned to look at him but his eyes kept staring ahead.

When Harry spoke his name though, his voice echoing too harshly, and told their audience that Malfoy hadn’t given him up to Voldemort and argued against his death a second time later at Hogwarts, Draco looked up, and their eyes met.

The boy who stared back at Harry wasn’t the same he had known for the past seven years, leaving Harry perplexed. Ghosts were now parading in Malfoy’s eyes, leaving them bloodshot. He had a haunted, absent look. Belonging to a man who knew what he'd done.

It only lasted a few seconds. Malfoy sunk back to apathy while Harry and a few other witnesses nurtured his family back to freedom. Harry had almost forgotten about it, until now.

As Slughorn kept on spluttering about bravery and forgiveness, Malfoy was alone, at a very safe distance from his old mates Goyle, Nott, and his girlfriend Parkinson. The same gloomy resignation Harry saw at the trial was still plaguing him now.

Yet, he still looked better than all of them, Harry noticed, annoyed. The fallen aristocracy, looking good wrapped in its blanket of misery. Again, Malfoy met his eyes and Harry scoffed at himself, drawing his focus away.

After an excruciating amount of time, they were allowed to the Great Hall for the feast. It was a sober one. No one knew exactly how cheerful they were allowed to act. Everybody knew at least one of the fallen students, parents, or Auror that fought during the battle.

Hermione said it would get better once they would get back into their routines. Harry believed her. She was almost always right. Ginny put on a brave face and declared she wouldn’t let anything get in the way of their happiness. And that Fred, most of all, would agree with that.

Harry thought of him as he climbed up the steps to his freshly repaired dorm, and threw himself on the bed with relief. He jumped under the covers and turned his back to Ron and Neville’s chatter.

Back to school. Back to normal. Back to getting his N.E.W.T.s and be just like everyone else, hanging out with Ginny so he could make up for what they had missed, try to create normal memories with normal teenagers, while the castle, his first real home, was under reconstruction. While they had to pretend that Slytherins were not Slytherins, like Pansy or Malfoy didn’t try to have them captured, or killed.

An hour passed. Nearby in the dark, Ron was snoring softly. Harry was too restless to sleep.

If having to suffer Malfoy’s presence for the whole year was the worst thing he could think of, there was not much to worry about. Harry thought of Malfoy looking tiny in the crowd, uncomfortable in his own skin. Out of place. Like he didn’t belong here.

The rules had changed, and he was no longer the peacock on these grounds. What did a former Death Eater have to look forward to?

Harry rolled to the side of his bed. And what about himself?

What should he do when there was no one to try and kill him or to hurt his friends? No more Horcruxes to hunt, no world to save? Was he really supposed to simply go to school, have a girlfriend, complain about homework and wait eagerly for the holidays?

The _world_ had changed, they had won. The world could only be a better place. For everyone. Right?

Maybe not for tiny Malfoy lost in the crowd.

Harry growled at himself. He would not spend his first night back at Hogwarts thinking about bloody Malfoy. This year was his. He could finally get the peace of mind he deserved.

He, and his friends.

And Ginny.


	4. Draco - 1 - On the other side

 

ON THE OTHER SIDE

 

 

The dungeon door creaked shut after Draco. This time, he was definitely alone. There was some relief in it. Especially after this day.

This morning, his mother put him on the train with a reassuring smile born from years of aristocratic deference and a few breakfast brandies. She looked almost happy.

She waved her silk handkerchief at him as he got into the train, pulling his enormous trunk. He didn’t look around, didn’t try to find a compartment to sit with his friends. He was still unsure about how they would react to seeing him. It was preferable to avoid everybody until they could all talk it through later. Yes, talk. And sort things out.

His father would never let anything bring him down this way, Draco thought, in a fit of childish automatism. He pushed this thought away. Of course. Never mind the war and everything that happened. His father still knew best.

Ridiculous.

He put away his trunk in the first empty space available, and crawled into a corner, waiting for everybody to be seated. He didn’t want to be stared at. He had vague thoughts of finding Astoria, but he realised he’d never seen her on the train, not once. Did she own an invisibility cape, like Potter? Could she make herself disappear? Draco wondered if she would teach him.

Eventually, too self-conscious to even dare make a move, he spent the whole journey crammed into his little corner, by his suitcase, earning himself the glares of passing students and the lady with the trolley. But even she would rather drop dead than acknowledge his presence. Compelled by some mysterious impulse, Draco started scratching his arm, where his Dark Mark rested.

A little shadow interrupted his reverie. He looked around at the girl before him. Astoria was already dressed for school, under an elegant black velvet cloak embroidered with sapphire blue threads. Her dark hair was tied up in a bun. She was rather impeccable, he thought, relieved to see her.

She always spoke with a quiet muted voice. He had to lean forward to hear her words. “I didn’t know where to find you.”

“Neither did I.”

He smiled, felt his cheeks heat up. He was still trying to forget what he said to her, last time. _Are you seeing anyone?_

He liked her, right? She was odd, but she grew very pretty, anyone with eyes would agree on that. He heard a few comments about her looks over the years. Not that it changed anything. She always walked the corridors alone.

Beauty was one thing. Reputation, another.

Then there was the fact that she was younger, but not by much. She was about to begin her seventh year, and he was technically attending his eighth, but this year, they would share their classes together.

She was smart enough that he never heard mockery about her grades in the Slytherin common room. It would have been very unfortunate if she was lagging behind. But she seemed to do alright at school. She might even help him with homework and assignments.

And she was nice, too. He noticed the first time he saw her after the war, when he came up to her with his hands crammed into his pockets and said hello. Her arm was still in a sling. She said hello back. 

She might be friendless, and she seemed a bit sad on the edges. But now he was pretty much just the same. Oh, and she could make people disappear. Literally.Or so he heard. A friend in need’s a friend indeed.

He used to make fun of her because she was quiet, because she never smiled, never laughed at his jokes in the Great Hall, never seemed to care about anyone but herself in the common room. If she really was a Winterburns, then she _had_ to join him. But she never said anything.

Then he told his father about her, and his father told him about her traitorous mother and her involvement with the Order of the Phoenix, so he mocked her because he thought his family was better than hers, and because he didn’t know anything else but how to make people feel like utter shits about themselves.

That was before the Battle of Hogwarts, during which he saw her Auror mother throw herself at a crowd of Death Eaters who were threatening the life of some Ravenclaw kids, while he was running for his life. Minutes later, Astoria herself shielded him when another Dark Lord supporter tried to hex him, accusing him of switching sides. She took a nasty spell and was still passed out when Potter defeated the… You know.

He made fun of them and they shielded him from death. There was something unpleasant about this idea, like a sour aftertaste lingering in the back of his throat, poisoning everything.

He saw his pallid face reflected in the pupils of Astoria’s unflinching blue eyes and grimaced. He wanted her to like him; of that, he was certain.

Did he offer himself as potential boyfriend using his old family name like he would have done with every other Slytherin before the war? He might have.

Would he ever learn from his mistakes? He sincerely hoped so. But right now, she was the best option to show the world he’d switched sides.

“Have you seen anybody?” He attempted to ease the tension between them.

He felt self-conscious about the size of the bags under his eyes, which she seemed to be studying carefully.

She replied with a half smile.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I meant, have you seen our people, on the train?”

She looked left and right, several times. “You mean your people. They’re somewhere.”

“Have you talked to them?”

She shrugged his question away.

Draco fell silent. His old friends were not looking for him. An uneasy feeling prickled the back of his neck. He had kind of relied on them to stick by him. He thought he could at least count on that. They fought and survived this shit together, right? And none of them had been trialed; not one of them. On the assumption that they were just kids, following a rotted apple: him. He definitely had the worst of it.

Now he had doubts, ominous doubts. Everything was out of place.

He smiled at Astoria to conceal his worries. She looked away. His new and possibly only friend displayed the emotional range of a reptile. Brilliant.

They were silent for most of the journey.

When he got off the train, he saw them, at last. Or more precisely, their backs. Pansy, Gregory and even Theodore Nott, who always claimed he didn’t want to be part of any “team”, as he himself put it. Now he seemed to be leading them all right.

Draco turned red. Were they playing a prank on him? They'd spent seven years together, but apparently couldn’t take the trouble to look for him on a bloody train?

He got into a carriage with Astoria and a group of second years that looked disgruntled at the sight of him. They started drawing crude pictures of him and her on fresh parchments sheets.

He despised them. Do your homework, stupid girls. Not every Slytherin is a Death Eater. Well, of course, some are. He was one of them. He let himself be branded like a house-elf.

But her… Astoria looked indifferent to the giggling and the mocking. But then, he made fun of her for years. Perhaps his bullying gave her a thicker skin.

Hell, he was doing it again. Trying to find ways to convince himself that some good came from his stupid actions.

There was a crowd outside the castle. Slughorn was making a speech. Things couldn’t possibly get worse. He heard Pansy laugh and his head jerked toward them. They were staring at him, the three of them, elbowing each other and giggling like schoolgirls. At first, he thought they were making fun of Astoria, but a quick glance around informed him that she had disappeared into the crowd.

“Here he is. Our hero!” Slughorn roared, while Potter made his way, surrounded by his groupies Granger and Weasley.

The indestructible trio.

The Weasley girl approached him and took a possessive hold of his arm. The hero’s girlfriend. Isn’t it nice. He could do that too. The moment he would find Astoria again. Which would be any minute now. Or not.

He threw a quick glance at Pansy and Gregory, but the look on their face only confirmed that _he_ was the target of their amusement. He raised an eyebrow. Pancy’s disgust was painted all over her face.

He suddenly felt very tall, and very noticeable. He dragged his gaze to Slughorn, still rambling like a mad man, and inadvertently met Potter’s eyes.

Draco’s stomach bounced up in his throat.

There it was: Harry Potter won. He just won. And he was made to win.

And Draco lost everything. He was made to lose.

A sorry attempt at a handshake came rushing back to his memory. He winced it away. Seven years later, he ought to get a grip. He was reduced to talking to himself now.

Dinner was worse, after all. The sorting turned gloomy when only an insulting portion of the new pupils was welcomed into their house. No booming, no clapping, most Slytherin students just acted like they had every reason to be sorry to be here. The first years looked apprehensibly at their eldest, and a little boy started crying when he realized he was seated in front of Draco. Even Slughorn seemed to be rendered speechless, though that wasn’t a bad thing.

People (Gryffindors) like to say there are no good Slytherins. That’s not true. He was seated a few seats away from one. Astoria pretended well not to know him. But at the end of McGonagall’s speech, she gave him an imperceptible nod, and he felt some relief.

 

At least his dormitory felt familiar, and he was happy to be back. The room was the same, but Crabbe’s bed was gone. He saw the empty space and quickly turned away. He took a step toward his own four-poster bed, but the enormous hairy hand of Gregory stopped him short.

“You’re in the back, from now on.”

Draco wasn’t even near Goyle’s stature but was as tall as him. He met his gaze coldly.

“Excuse me?”

He felt someone move behind his back, and noticed his former mates were circling him.

“Get in the back. You’re not one of us anymore.” Gregory sounded calm, confident. Dangerous.

Draco tried to swallow. “What? Why?” He hated that his voice came out so girly. Nott didn’t miss it. His lips curled into a fiendish smile.

Draco studied them as he had never seen them before. That must be how they appeared from the other side, he thought, almost amazed.

They weren’t snakes. They were sharks. Drawn to blood. He couldn’t afford to look frightened, or they would tear him to shreds.

“Why? You’re asking why?” Nott scoffed. “How about… You and your family are a fucking embarrassment!”

He laughed and the others joined in approbation. Nott took his time to enjoy their reaction before focusing back on Draco.

“You couldn’t do anything. You’re all words. Crabbe’s dead because of you. Everyone hates us here, because of you. Our last year is going to be shit, because of you. We lost everything, because of you. You were a useless leader, like your stupid loser of a father.” He shrugged, and his face betrayed how much he was enjoying this.” You’re out.”

Draco glanced at Blaise for support, but he looked away.

“Get in the back.” Gregory snarled, digging his finger into Draco’s chest. “And screw you. We don’t know you.” His face came so close that Draco could admire the enlarged pores on his nose at leisure. He had never noticed them before.

Nott threw his cloak on what had been Draco’s bed for many years. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

Draco turned once more to Blaise, who stared back, looking somber. He shook his head, went to his new bed, and shut the drapes behind him.

Nott sniggered on the other side of the room. “That’s right, poofter.”

They erupted in laughter.

It wasn’t important. They weren’t part of his life anymore. It didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. He took quiet breaths to slow his heartbeat back to normal.

“Occlumency Lesson One!” He heard the barking voice of his aunt Bellatrix, echoing loudly through his memory.

It was easier for her now, he caught himself thinking. He quietly put on his pajamas and slipped under the blankets.

Eyes wet, lips dry. _Whose_ side was he on anyway?


	5. Draco - 2 -  W.A.N.D.S.

 

W.A.N.D.S.

 

 

“Mr Malfoy, please be seated.”

Draco sat on the edge of his chair. A few feet away, across an imposing table, a group of four austere-looking people sat on heavy chairs, shuffling rolls of parchments and whispering to each other. It was still early in the morning. Lessons, and even breakfast, had not started yet.

The four strangers were from the newly appointed Hogwarts W.A.N.D.S —Wizards for the Absolutely Necessary Demagogic Security. As he had read in the newspaper over the summer, their purpose was to make sure no Death Eater, or any kind of threat, really, had slipped between justice’s fingers and infiltrated the school to torment, or cunningly recruit among the students.

W.A.N.D.S., Draco repeated to himself. Most likely W.A.N.K.E.R.S. Wizards with the Authority to Needlessly Kick out Every Repenting Student. His lip curled into a joyless smirk. 

He could feel the presence of McGonagall in his back. She brought him here herself, and tried to straighten his tie before allowing him inside. There was nothing to straighten, she eventually noticed. Draco almost told her that Malfoys aren’t sloppy with their appearance, but he thought it better not to say anything. She asked briskly about his first night. He said everything was fine. She said not to worry about the meeting they were about to have. He said he wasn’t worried. He was, though. Afraid, even. But he merely nodded, and she tightened her lips and pulled him inside the reassigned classroom.

The only woman in  ~~ W . A . N . K . E . R . S ~~ ~~.~~  W.A.N.D.S, a witch in her fifties, with a nose like a beak and very pink lips, spoke to him first.

“Mr Malfoy. This is only a matter of routine. We know that coming back here is part of your sanction, decided by a very competent jury. On the other hand, we really need you to answer a few questions, to find out more about you, your academic weaknesses and strengths, for instance, and to assess whether or not you are, indeed, suitable for the school.”

The three old men nodded at her words. Draco shifted in his chair, his fists clutched tight. He noticed his palms were sweaty.

“Mr Malfoy, it was determined that you, and the members of your family, were indeed Death Eaters.”

Well, Whoop-de-doo.

He took in a breath.  “Yes.”

“Louder Mr Malfoy, please.”

“Yes.”

“And that your house, that is to say, the place referenced as Malfoy manor, was used by You-know-Who himself as headquarters.”

Unpleasant memories came flashing back like a flutter of dark wings.

Draco cleared his throat. “Y—yes.”

“Would you be so kind as to persuade us that you are no longer motivated by You-Know-Who’s ideas, or in any way intending to be a danger for this school? And that —“

“I'm really not— “

“Please don’t interrupt.”

He heard some noise in the background, the soft squeaking of the door to the classroom. Somebody had come in. McGonagall took a few steps back to greet the newcomer. Draco didn’t dare make a move. He wished his mother were here. He wished she was the one who just arrived, to put an end to this embarrassment. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

“Mr Malfoy." The ancient wizard seating on the left of the witch spoke after a quick glance at the door. “In which areas would you find yourself most talented?”

Occlumency, he thought, Occlumency. Occlumency.

It saved his life, after all.

But before he could open his mouth, the old man spoke again. “Because from what I gathered from your file, your most impressive skill seems to be, without any doubt, to relentlessly torment other people.”

Draco’s shoulders sagged.

“Knowing how to make people cry won’t be of much use to this school,” the witch said in a harsh tone, waving what seemed to be a very, very thick file with his name on it.

Draco looked down, the sweat pearling at his brow now threatening to drown him. McGonagall murmured something behind him. He quickly wiped his brow again and rubbed his hand on his trousers.

“P-potions.” Draco said, hating that his voice sounded shaky.

“Louder, Mr Malfoy.”

“Potions. I was good at potions. And hum… Duel—I mean, Charms. I was good at Charms.”

“And Transfiguration, when he was paying attention. Very good indeed.” McGonagall’s voice sounded shrill. The temperature in the room might as well have dropped a hundred degrees.

The witch pinched her pink lips. “Mr Malfoy, what exactly are your plans for the future?”

There was an ominous silence, in which Draco believed they could hear the sound of his eyelids as he fluttered them uncontrollably.

“I haven’t… I’m not sure I have that figured out yet.”

That wasn’t a lie. All through summer he only wished to get through the embarrassment of an eighth year at Hogwarts unscathed. Beyond that, he never really thought...

The eldest wizard clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “That’s why I thought that you should have been awarded a few months in Azkaban, to reflect on your conduct and think about how exactly you plan to repay our community.” The others nodded their approval with flawless mimesis. “For this reason, we will not weaken or remove altogether the lock that the Ministry has imposed on your wand. You will only be able to use it to perform the tasks demanded of you by your appointed professors. This measure will ensure that you will not use magic to cause trouble.”

Draco shut his eyes. Locked wands performed poorly, when they performed at all. The new wand his mother had purchased for him this summer was immediately locked by order of the Ministry, and he had been struggling to cast simple spells, never mind the challenging ones. Their decision could have disastrous consequences on his grades.

This awful meeting was supposed to be a formality. Now it felt like a death sentence for his N.E.W.T.s.

He spoke in a faint voice. “I didn’t realise—”

“You didn’t realise. Hear this. He didn’t realise.” The old wizard and his colleagues turned to each other with a look of contempt on their face. “People died, Mr Malfoy, because of you and your twisted beliefs—“

“That’s enough.”

Draco’s stomach dropped when he heard Harry Potter’s voice, loud and clear behind him.  Of course. It figured. Now his humiliation was complete.

Draco forced his gaze on an imaginary point above the witch’s head, determined to push back the angry tears that prickled his eyes.  He would not embarrass himself further in front of Saint Potter, Saviour of the Universe.

The elderly wizard spoke up, in a much gentler tone. “Mr Potter, please forgive me, but if I may, you are only invited here as a pure courtesy, I assure you that—”

“No,  _I’m_  sorry, but I was under the impression that Malfoy was already judged for his crimes, and he was invited to come back to Hogwarts. I should know, I was there.”

Draco’s ears buzzed in a very unpleasant manner, but he wasn’t about to let anything show. The W.A.N.D.S. remained silent for a while.

The witch broke the silence. “Of course Mr Potter, it’s only a formality.”

“Dumbledore would have never stood for that,” Potter said in a dark tone.

The memory of the old man, so tall and yet so frail, at the top of the Astronomy Tower, made the hair on the back of Draco's neck stand on end.

McGonagall came into view. “I agree that this should be enough. Dumbledore wanted Mr Malfoy to come back whenever he would be… ready." She briefly paused, then resumed in a softer tone. "Draco is a very capable student, and he’s not the only one who doesn’t know yet which career to pursue.”

A tiny grumpy-looking wizard, who had remained silent the whole time, at last opened his mouth. “Good for nothing, like his father. Never got an honest job in his life. Paid his way out of everything.”

The witch stood up abruptly. “You may go, Mr Malfoy. And” —she looked back and forth between McGonagall and Potter — “good luck. We will meet again if necessary.”

Draco shot off his chair and raced outside with his head down to avoid meeting anybody’s eyes. His sweat froze on his skin, and he only slowed down when he reached the staircase that would take him to the Great Hall.

Potter. He had to be saved by Potter. Potter who already showed up at his trial all merciful and full of shit. Potter who came back, riding from the burning skies, to hurl him on his broom. Potter whose power was such that Draco felt its intensity when he gripped him with all his strength, sobbing like an idiot over the raging flames. Fucking Potter.

“You’re alright, Malfoy?”

Draco spun around savagely, his fists clenched, and slammed his elbow against the statue guarding the staircase.

“What the fuck, Potter!”

Pain exploded in his arm, but he stuck up his chin and he gave Potter a cold stare while biting back tears of pain. His hand found itself in his pocket, searching for his wand; he was ready to fight him, even still.

It felt familiar. Almost warm.

Potter looked different, though; Draco wasn’t able to discern how. His brow was furrowed, his eyes devoid of cruel intent. His wand wasn’t drawn, but his hand hovered over his pocket in an instinctive manner.

“You’re going to hex me now?” Draco said.

Potter let his hand fall to his side. “Sorry, I thought  _you_  might hex me.”

Draco laughed, a mirthless laugh. “I’m not allowed to hex, remember? My wand is locked, and monitored.” He took it out and waved it bitterly. “I can only use it in classes. Barely. And I wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack you anyway. The Boy Who Saved.”

“No." Potter sighed. "I think we’re done with all this.”

He didn’t look like he wanted a fight. What the fuck did he want, then?

Draco shrugged. “Yes, Potter, we are definitely, definitely done. So stop meddling with my affairs and get lost.”

He expected Potter to leave him alone. But the obnoxious prat didn't move. He stood there, grimacing, as though he had something to say.

"What do you want?" Draco said. "A bloody medal?”

Potter's eyes widened. He shook his head.  “You’re such a wanker.” 

He pushed past him and hurried down the stairs. 

“You’ve got that right, Potter!” Draco called after him.

A group of small second-year girls appeared out of nowhere and chased after Potter. One of them almost knocked him over in her haste.

“Hey, watch it.”

Her friend, barely the size of Flitwick, spat on his shiny black shoes and rushed down the stairs. 

Draco looked at his stained shoes. “Brilliant. Cheers!” 

He decided he was not hungry after all.


	6. Harry - 2 - The New Normal

 

THE NEW NORMAL

 

 

The first few weeks, Harry believed everything to be fine. Attending classes, filling out rolls of parchments with various essays; returning the smiles of his teachers determined to move on with the new order. Games in the common room, remembrances whispered around smuggled Butterbeers, conversations about potential careers and dreams for the future: he partook in them all.

Once or twice he stopped, startled and shivering, halfway through a staircase or on his way to Hagrid’s, certain he saw Dumbledore. But it was never more than a shadow. He would then draw his gaze toward the Astronomy Tower and only a gentle nudge from his friends would bring him back to his senses.

The first time he entered Defense Against The Dark Arts class, he froze, somehow expecting to see Snape. Slightly younger and definitely less belligerent, Professor Belmore was welcomed as an unspoken improvement amongst all. Harry wondered, his attention miles away from the class, how Snape had felt, all those years, and if their horrible relationship could have been avoided, if only he’d known. Ron elbowed him with painful expertise: the Professor had asked him a question about his casting of the Patronus spell. Harry replied plenty of other students knew how to cast that spell, and earned himself a glare from Hermione.

It was school as it should always have been. Joking with Ron and Hermione over a delicious breakfast, complaining about homework in the common room, stealing kisses with Ginny in various corridors of the castle. Berating Peeves for being Peeves, and Filch for being Filch.

Gradually though, ever so softly, he felt out of place. He got tired of the claps on his back, the hopeful eyes, the heartfelt compliments. He shuddered when he heard other lads muttering in the staircases.

“He’s scored the best looking girl.”

“Her brother is his best mate”.

“This guy has it all."

"He deserves it too.”

Every time he heard anything of the sort he felt a furious need to either curl up into a ball or disappear and leave it all behind. He just couldn’t explain it.

Everyone loved him, sought to be around him. Even the Slytherins were courting him. Pansy offered him her oiliest smiles. Goyle laughed at his thickest jokes whenever he was in earshot.

Theodore Nott, a tall and quiet bloke with beady eyes and a creepy smile, asked him if he’d be back on the Quidditch team. Harry stopped dead in his tracks, caught by surprise, and turned to his friends, who looked just the same. Instinctively, he glanced at Draco at the back of the Charms class they were all attending, but Draco was sitting alone, gazing out the window with a sour look on his face. Harry told Nott he would be Captain of the team — as an exception, since he wasn’t present last year. Of course, being Harry Potter had its advantages.

Harry still loved flying, but the fun of the competition seemed, just like the rest, to have waned, and he found himself wandering the Hogwarts corridors after practice like one of the school’s many ghosts.

His dead were everywhere and everywhere he felt them, so he took it upon himself to retreat to the Owlery. To whisper a few words to Hedwig first, then to everyone he had loved and lost; and sometimes, when in the late hours he felt at his most alone, he wished he could reconnect with his old self too.

September slowly merged into October, and one morning he sat peering dreamily into the distance in the merry clatter of the Great Hall, when he heard Ron shout his name and jumped.

“Bloody Hell, Ron!”

“Ah, there he is.”

Harry stared into the amused faces of Ron and Hermione sitting across from him.

“What?”

“Hogsmeade,” Neville said on his left, through a mouthful of oatmeal. “We’re talking about Hogsmeade.”

“Oh.”

Ron dropped his fork to point a finger at Harry. “What is wrong with you, mate? Ginny asked you if you wanted to go with her and you didn’t even answer!”

“What? When?”

“This morning, in the common room,” Hermione said with a reproachful look. “She left us there and as you can see, she’s not here now.”

Harry, startled, looked around for any signs of Ginny. He never meant to put her off. Ginny deserved better than this. Ginny deserved… the best.

Whatever that was.

“I didn’t hear a thing,” he said, dismayed.

“Obviously,” Neville said in an uncharacteristic low tone.

“I’ll talk to her as soon as she shows up,” Harry said.

“You’re so distracted lately, Harry.” Hermione leaned toward him. “Is everything ok?”

Harry made a great show of shrugging and huffing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Hermione rested her head on her hands, and pretended to be thinking of a particularly difficult problem.

“Mmmmh. Let me see. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that you’re lost in your thoughts whenever we’re trying to have a conversation, or that you’ve been avoiding us lately, including Ginny, and yes, she told me you like to spend time in the Owlery, and I know if must remind you of Hedwig but—”

Hermione was spot on and Harry did spent a lot of time in the Owlery feeling miserable about himself, but he had no intention of talking about it. He elected to tune out Hermione and observe Draco Malfoy as he entered the Great Hall instead.

Malfoy looked terrible. Skinny and grey. His back was arched and he was pulling on the sleeves of his robe as if he was trying to disappear within it altogether. Malfoy looks like I feel, Harry thought with bitter amusement.

“—And he’s not listening to me at all!” Hermione threw up her hands.

“What!” Harry turned to her, irritated.

“Hello Harry! What’s going on?” Luna appeared at their table.

Harry ignored Hermione’s hurt look and focused on Luna. His stomach tightened when he saw Ginny was behind her, trying to establish eye contact. He smiled with as much warmth as he could cast and welcomed the relief on her face.

Neville scrambled to make room for her and she slipped between them, tossing back her beautiful hair. Her flowery perfume filled Harry’s nostrils and was like the promise of spring and better days.

“Are you joining us, Luna?” Hermione asked, already scooting over.

“Oh, I don’t know—”

“Hey! Who’s that girl with Malfoy?” Harry blurted out.

His friends froze in surprise, Ron halfway through a large swig of pumpkin juice. Harry shoved a spoonful of eggs in his mouth, and shrugged for good measure. They all craned their neck toward the Slytherin table.

An attractive girl with ridiculously lustrous dark hair, pulled into a strict ponytail, was walking out of the Great Hall with Malfoy in tow.

“And when he’s just arrived too…” Harry said, watching them through squinted eyes.

The girl was listening to Malfoy, her brows furrowed. The light caught her pale blue eyes. Harry felt he met her before.

“He doesn’t look too good,” Luna said, turning her attention back to the table. She took the seat next to Hermione and helped herself to an apple.

Hermione pinched her lips. “He never looked good, though, did he?”

Harry opened his mouth, only to find out he had no clue what he had meant to say.

Ron made a disgusted noise. “Who cares how he looks? Who’s the girl?”

Harry nodded, trying not to feel too aware that Ginny was staring at him intently.

“That’s Astoria,” Luna said. “We have classes together.”

“We do?” Ron drained his glass of pumpkin juice and struggled not to burp in front of Hermione.

“We do, Ron.” Hermione said. “She’s in her last year too.”

“I’ve had classes with her for years,” Ginny said.

“Hm.” Harry put down his fork.

“What is it?” Ginny asked, and went for his plate.

“She looks vaguely familiar.”

“Does she?”

Luna smiled. “I’ve had classes with her too. She’s very quiet. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say anything unless a teacher asked her a direct question.”

“We have Arithmancy together. She seems capable.” Hermione said. "And her being quiet doesn't mean she’s unfriendly."

“That’s tr—”

“She’s a bit of a loner and a weirdo,” Ginny said. “What? It’s true!” she added when she saw the mildly reproachful look on Luna’s face.

“She’s a Slytherin.” Ron shrugged.

“Yes, but she looks… familiar. Do we know her?”

Ginny let out a strained laugh. “I’m going to start worrying that you fancy her.”

Harry’s felt his patience wavering.“I don’t fancy her!” He spoke in an agitated voice. “I’m just curious why Malfoy hangs out with her.”

“Malfoy-Malfoy-Malfoy,” Ron chanted, eyes glinting with mischief. “Are we having ourselves another case of Harry’s sixth year obsession? Remember how it ended?”

“With Dumbledore dead?” Harry said.

There was a shift in the atmosphere around the table and Harry immediately regretted his bad temper. The tip of Ron’s ears turned scarlet.

“No, mate, I meant to make a bad joke, that’s all.”

“I love a joke,” Harry said, forcing a smile on his face. “What was it?”

“Just something to do with you and Malfoy in the bathroom…”

“Haha!” Harry laughed too loud. “Right.”

Ginny burst out laughing and everybody else relaxed.

“Really, Ron?” She turned to Harry and squeezed his hand. “She might look familiar because her mother was in the Order. She fought on our side.”

“Oh.” Comprehension dawned on Hermione’s face. “She's Raven's daughter, Harry. So, not a Death Eater.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was worried about.” Harry supported his words with a fervent nod.

But... Raven's daughter? Who the hell was Raven? Oh, yes. The Slytherin Auror who never smiled and whom he called Snape's girlfriend once or twice. That one.

Ginny patted him on the shoulder. “Nope, not a Death Eater, as far as we know.”

Ron turned around as if to get a better look at Astoria. Harry knew she was long gone.

“It’s still odd to think of Slytherins being in the Order.”

“Slughorn is a Slytherin,” Luna said.

“He wasn’t in the Order. And he’s driving me mad,” Ron said.

Snape too was a Slytherin who fought for the right side, Harry thought. But only too late. And it never stopped him from being a horrible bully. Who was this Astoria? How come he didn’t know anything about her? Did she just appear out of nowhere? He had to do something about it.

“Anyway,” Ginny said in a tone that signaled she was soon to be through with this conversation, “it’s good for them if they’re dating or something.”

Harry cast her a surprised look.

“I mean it!" She said. "Look. No one other than a Slytherin is ever going to date a guy like Malfoy.”

“Hear, hear,” Ron said.

“So Malfoy needs a Slytherin who’s not a complete bi—”

“Like Pansy,” Hermione said through gritted teeth.

Ron snorted and Luna gave a pensive nod.

“—and Astoria needs to relax a little. Merlin knows she’s stuck up. I don’t even think she can use a broomstick. As for Malfoy, he looks like he’s got the broomstick firmly located up his… Easy Hermione, I won’t say it. In conclusion, they need each other so they can… unwind a little.”

Ginny laughed and to Harry’s surprise, Hermione did too, her cheeks pink.

“Ew,” Ron looked sick. “I don’t want to hear about people ‘unwinding’ with Malfoy.”

Ginny laughed, obviously delighted at the opportunity to mess with her brother. “Malfoys have sex too, you know!”

Harry gave an awkward laugh.“I agree with Ron,” he said, his stomach churning. “I really don’t want to hear about that.” He pressed a hand to his belly. “I think it’s actually making me sick.”

Their breakfast finished, he followed his friends out of the Great Hall, lost in thoughts. It was obvious Malfoy didn’t spend much time with his former friends but kept to himself, to everybody’s general satisfaction. Surely Harry would know if Malfoy had a girlfriend…

And how would he know exactly? Harry realised how silly he sounded. He turned to Ginny and took her hand.

“So, Hogmeade. I’m in if you’re in.”

She bit her lip and flushed, causing him to smile. One thing was sure, _he_ was the one that needed to relax.


	7. Draco - 3 - Life without friends

 

LIFE WITHOUT FRIENDS

 

 

Draco’s bullying. It appeared gradually. It was a sting, at first, a whispered jest in the tumult between classrooms, an occasional elbow as he was about to sit down, a sneer, a cackling laugh, but mostly they ignored him.

Always the same perpetrators, too. Pansy would have an idea, Nott would murmur an order, and he was skilled this way. No one could ever trace it back to him. Nor that anyone would want to, anyway. Goyle would jump to the task, eager, always, and Blaise would laugh quietly into his fist. And Draco, well, Draco took it. What else could he have done? He had a poor excuse for a wand and every one of the spells he performed was monitered by the Ministry. He didn’t want to attract any attention to himself, and thought it was the smart thing to do.

However his lack of response might have been unnerving, since after some time, their intentions toward him became increasingly nasty.

They would throw in a kick as to have him crash down, face first, the unforgiving stone floors, then Goyle's black shoe would linger painfully on his hand. A well timed push once sent him rolling down a steep, only to be covered in thick, gluey mud. At first no one noticed, but with persistence came inquiries, looks, pointed fingers, and the shadow of a smile, that quickly turned into a muted but general agreement.

Later they took his food. Those who noticed saw it as fit punishment for the only one who was an actual Death Eater. The one accused of murdering the great Dumbledore. The one who opened the school to mad men, and try to murder their wild-haired saviour. They agreed with Nott and his gang, and said nothing.

Draco thought it was ok, understandable, even. He had found himself on the loosing side. And he was honestly okay with it. Anything but the Dark Lord was an improvement, really. The things he had seen… The things he had done… And what was done to him. Voldemort could feel your terror and use it as opening to seep in and fester like black mold. A few kids’ jeering mouths with their soft hands balled into weak fists were nothing in comparison. He had expected it to happen anyway. And yet, sorrow and resentment at their passive cruelty too had started to crawl in. After a while, when you let it get to you, everything starts hurting.

They were all proud of their crude words, as if they’d discovered them overnight, and they loved the way if rolled off their tongue. Ponce. Queer. Fairy. Words first uttered by Pansy who Draco suspected did _not_ get over their abysmal attempts at physical contact after all. Now every daring Hogwarts student liked to repeat them like a secret curse. Their favourite one is ‘faggot’ though, a fleshy word, a reminder of Draco’s cowardice on the battlefield, and as a person in general. Everyone had a reason to hate him, and that felt almost fair.

He wasn’t sure about his former friends though.

Were they mad at him because he supported Voldemort, or because he didn’t, in the end? Because he endangered their school, or failed to destroy it? Because he always lost to Potter, or because he was lukewarm in his efforts to bring him down? Because he was found shaking and crying amongst a crowd of survivors and corpses, embraced by his parents, saved by the mercy of the orphan he always ~~env~~ hated?

Once he dared and asked, when, while he browsed a bookshelf in the library, he saw them spy on him through rows of Alchemy books. He turned and asked, his head held high, fragile shreds of his dignity glinting in his eyes. He earned himself a nice reprimand: Goyle shoved him into the shelf, Nott cast a quick spell and he found himself buried under dozen of heavy manuscripts. Mrs Pince went into a fit and promptly banished him from the library for a week.

Yes. His grades were abysmal. With no sign of improving whatsoever.

And of course, there were his parents. Father, rotting in a cell but still making demands. Surprisingly unfazed for someone living with Dementors. His determination to restore his family’s reputation didn’t bring him any joy, so they couldn’t get to him that way, Draco supposed.

His mother was begging, begging him to make it right. First, he should be at the top of his class. Draco couldn’t wait for her to find out about his poor performance. Then, become friendly with Potter even after six or seven years of pure _hatred_ on both sides. That should be an easy feat, right? Saint Potter might be a Saint but he’s no idiot. Finally, make everything in his power to secure the affections of someone like Astoria, whose Pure-Blood family and ties with the Order of the Phoenix could only benefit them, though no one would ever mention Raven Winterburns’ ridiculous views over dinner.

He could imagine with some sort of humour his mother in her elegant silk robes and fur-trimmed cloak dining across from Astoria’s surly Auror of a mother in her black sheepskin cloak and knee-high boots. It would be almost tempting to scream: “But what about Muggles???” if he wasn’t so afraid to see his mother humiliated by Raven. After all, Astoria’s mother was the one who put down his mad dog of an aunt, Bellatrix.

He shuddered at the thought of her. He could take all the bullying in the word after a year spent with a true psycho.

And yet. How long would he really last? Knowing that he deserved it didn’t make it more bearable.

He was alone in the common room one evening, curled up in a large armchair, lost in dark pathways of his mind he never thought he’d explore before. He cast a glance at the unfinished Charms assignment on his lap and pushed it away, annoyed.

He was late in the writing of his weekly letter to his mother. He found it more and more difficult to find new ways to lie to her about his health, his grades, and pretty much every thought that assailed him. Perhaps he would go to the Owlery instead. He discovered it was peaceful at night, and the land that stretched for miles beyond the castle mesmerized him. Last time he went up there he thought he heard someone call his name, down in the courtyard. He braved the wind and leaned over into the emptiness, but saw nothing. He wanted to check again tonight, just in case.

Then he heard a shuffling noise and froze. His first thought was Goyle, but Goyle was a beast and beasts make stomping sounds. Nott, then? That would be worse. Draco suspected now that Nott was the stuff of nightmares, though he hadn’t experienced the fullness of his sadism yet. But he doubted he’d had to wait long.

However when he found the courage to look over his shoulder, he found the unexpressive face of Astoria and her pale eyes fixed on him, and he felt a rush of annoyance.

“What are you doing here?” He sounded cold, and he meant it.

She walked around his chair to face him. “Looking for you. What are you doing here?”

He hesitated. Though pleased she was looking for him, he was still mad at her for her erratic behavior. She only talked to him when they were alone. When he tried to speak to her at breakfast the other day, she immediately turned around and left the Great Hall, and he had to follow her like a puppy to be able to share a few words. She was ashamed of him and he had enough of it.

“Why do you care?” He pretended to be absorbed by the letter for his mother which started with _'Dear Mother'_  and had yet to offer any more content.

“Why are you angry at me?”

He met her eyes and saw her incredulity. His anger flared up, stirred by pain and loneliness.

“You’re never around whenever I need you. I have to chase you everywhere. It’s like you don’t give a shit about me.”

She said nothing but continued to stare, and for the first time he wondered, with some alarm, if she wasn’t using Occlumency on a constant basis. To do so would demand enormous focus and restraint, he’d know. And for what?

She crouched by his side. “I’m sorry. I’m just not very good at being bullied.”

Her answer took him aback. “Bullied? Did someone bully you?”

She looked over her shoulder, as if to check they were alone. “They’re constantly after you. Always taunting, tugging, pushing. I don’t see how you do it.”

“Do what?”

She held on to the armrest of his chair with thin, white fingers. “Not cursing them all into oblivion.”

He laughed, an awkward laugh that sounded like a cackle. “My wand won’t let me, you know. Besides… I wouldn’t… want to hurt anyone. Not really.”

“Well." She got up and sat on the edge of the armrest. He noticed she wasn’t wearing robes. He could see the curve of her thighs and her breasts through the cotton of her pyjamas. She was wearing a model for boys. He had practically the same in his trunk. “I would. And that would raise attention. My mother always told me never to raise attention. And hexing people tends to get people’s attention. Like studying the dark arts, having exceptionally good grades, or being extraordinary on a broomstick.” She shrugged off her statement as if it made perfect sense and started picking at her nails.

Draco thought for a moment. He had a vague memory of unusual books laying on her sofa when he visited her. “You do study the dark arts. And you wouldn’t want people to know that, right?”

She nodded. “My mother says it’s important to study everything. Especially if you’re ever going to defend yourself against it. But it’s not always a very popular idea.”

“No, it’s not,” Draco conceded. Then he grabbed her wrist excitedly: “Wait, does that mean you also fake your knowledge to get average grades?”

She pulled her arm free, but offered a half-smile.

Draco laughed. “That’s really daft.”

“No, it’s not,” she said with a hurt look. “It’s smarter than whining about what Father says and what Father owns and—”

Draco winced. “Alright, enough, I’m sorry. I guess your mother really cares about discretion, and let’s say… My father is quite the opposite.”

Astoria studied his face, and worried her bottom lip, as if she was trying to determine whether to speak on. “My mother never liked your father,” she said eventually.

Draco’s shoulders sagged. He used to love hearing stories about his father’s glorious years at Hogwarts. Now the stories were almost painful to hear.

“So they were in school together, then?”

She let out a quiet chuckle. “No, but… It’s your father we’re talking about.”

Draco scoffed, not unamused. “Thanks, I guess.”

“He called my mother a blood traitor so many times, I guess she got tired of it.”

“Right.” He drummed his fingers of his lap, eager to change the subject. “And, to carry on with what you said earlier, can I assume that you are exceptional on a broomstick? Because I miss Quidditch and I can tell you—”

“No. I’m rubbish on a broomstick. I don’t get it. I don’t want to get it. I don’t have to get it.” There was a flash of arrogance in her eyes. Something aristocratic. Yet boyish.

Nice.

He forced himself to stop staring. But she was cute in her boys’ pyjamas. He thought it would be a good time to ask her out.

“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?”

“No,” she said.

And she got up.

“Wait, you—” Draco stopped talking. He just remembered his rights to visit Hogsmeade had been rescinded, by order of the W.A.N.D.S. “Never mind. I can’t go anyway. And I’m going to pretend you didn’t so clearly say no in the first place.”

She took out her wand and Draco raised a defensive hand.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I just never go to Hogsmeade. I have no one to go with and nothing to shop for. And this,” she wiggled her wand, “is for your face”.

“My face?”

“Your black eye?”

Oh, that. Draco had forgotten all about the ‘incident’. This afternoon, in Defense Against The Dark Arts. They studied minerals and their protective properties. Goyle tossed a rock at his face and told Belmore he mistook Draco for a Cornish Pixie.

It earned him a few laughs, especially with Gryffindor trolls.

Draco didn’t have to try too hard to avoid glancing at Potter to check if he, too, was having a laugh at him. His right eye was already swollen, rendering his vision useless on that side of the room.

“What do you do if you’re not going to Hogsmeade, then?” he asked, wincing in anticipation of her spell.

He didn’t hear more than a murmur and felt a warm, pleasant sensation over his face.

“I go to the library,” she said.

“You would get along with Granger,” he said without thinking. 

She put her chin in her hand. “I think I would, yes. But don’t tell her that. I wouldn’t want—”

“To get their attention. Right. Don’t worry. I don’t think she’s too keen on me, after years of calling her a Mudblood and her getting tortured in my drawing room, and all…”

Astoria looked away and Draco stopped talking. He rubbed his palms against his trousers.

“Hey, I was about to go to the Owlery, post this letter of lies to my mother. Do you want to join me?”

She faced him again. “Owlery at this hour? It’s forbidden. And why would you lie to your mother?”

He shrugged. “She doesn’t have to know about the black eye.”

Astoria stared for a long time, her eyes narrowed. “I agree,” she then said. “Or she would worry you’re getting too much attention.”

Draco frowned. “No, not that.”

He almost asked what kind of life she had up there in that strange cabin where she lived, stuck with her paranoid mother, but decided tonight was not a right time.

“Forget it. Let’s find something nice to write about.”

Astoria helped Draco write a simple letter detailing the contents of his last lessons and what he allegedly ate for breakfast and dinner. He begged his mother not to send sweets because it made him look ‘uncool’, but in truth, he didn’t want to tempt fate and have Goyle whack the back of his head one night to steal his stuff like he did last time.

Eventually he managed to convince her to join him outside the dungeons. They snuck out and made their way to the Owlery in silence.

He cast her quick, nervous glances, worried about what she might expect to happen in the dark when thrown alone with a boy. Pansy would have wanted him to stop and push her against the wall and kiss her senseless. He tried, once, to both their disappointment. The memory was enough to make him feel nauseous.

But Astoria wasn’t looking at him, and she wasn’t like Pansy or anyone he’d ever met anyway, and he doubted he could shove her against the wall and depart with his balls intact if he ever dared.

 


	8. Draco - 4 - The Fall

 

THE FALL

 

 

Days passed, some longer and tougher than others, but Draco held on, and, once or twice, was spotted here and there with a hint of a smile. Astoria and he were closer since the Owlery;she wasn’t avoiding him anymore.

Draco found he could endure everything better now, knowing he had someone to talk to. He didn’t tell her everything, especially not the most embarrassing parts, but it definitely helped to have a friend.

A real friend this time.

The problem with friends is that you start to worry about them. How was he supposed to know? He couldn’t pretend he was really close to Crabbe and Goyle. They could barely share a simple conversation, never mind a challenging one. Nott and Blaise were extras, added bonuses to his former grand audience. And Pansy wasn’t a friend, she was a groupie. She was as interested in the real him now as she ever was.

There was a time he actually thought he might marry her. Did he ever wanted to? Fuck no. But, you’ve got to get married at some point. He was a Malfoy, after all. And she had a good pedigree.

He never cared for her as he cared for Astoria, though. Yes, his new friend lacked the basic social skills commonly mastered by a child over five, and he suspected her to find him silly, at times. She looked away when he offered her a smile, and didn’t know how to accept gifts, however small, or compliments. Yet she was a good companion, and never asked any questions. Now that she helped with his essays, his grades had picked up, a little. 

He could see it, the end of the tunnel, clearer than before.

But it showed. And he made the mistake to smile, or she did, or at some point, someone watched closely and saw for themselves. Draco had a friend. Thus, she must be destroyed.

They were making their way down to the grand staircase, and he was taunting her about her father, his favourite game. She never gave in, and he still didn’t know. Not that it mattered anymore. But it was their game.

Today the candidate was Dumbledore. She must have found the idea amusing. She titled her head toward him, and smiled. A real smile. Showing teeth. And behind her, the stares. From Pansy and Nott. Goyle was too slow to notice anything, and Blaise too self-centered. But Pansy and Nott, soulmates if he ever met ones, noticed everything, because they were predatory like that.

Draco later told Astoria, panic flashing in his eyes, that she should stay away from him, and that she’d been right to keep her distances. But to his surprise, she refused to go away.

“What is done is done,” she said. “No point crying about it now. Onward we go.”

Draco then teased her about her outdated manner of speech and forgot about the problem at hand.

When he wrote to his mother last night, and mentioned his friendship with Astoria, he meant every word. Then he put down his quill and watched the flames dance in the fireplace.

He cared enough about her to hesitate to take things further. For her own well-being. He’d never cared that way for anyone but his parents before.

So the next morning, on his way up the stairs leading out of the dungeons, he was still pondering about these feelings, when he heard the low growl of a voice that was Goyle’s behind him.

“Malfag has a little girlfriend.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He had heard that one before. Goyle wasn’t famed for his creativity.

“How much are you paying her, Malfag?”

Pancy laughed. That was usually the trigger for Nott. He chuckled, and spoke in his usual smarmy voice.

“I heard she was a whore, just like her mother.”

It happened in an instant. Draco stopped. He turned to glare at Nott. A glare. He would have never dared anything more. Not like this.

Nott made an imperceptible movement of the head. Goyle grabbed Draco by the collar. He had ridiculous strength. One tug and Draco was tumbling down the stairs.

He shielded his head in his hands the best he could, and reached the bottom of the stairs with a thump and a groan. When he looked up he saw the sneering faces of the people he used to call friends.

“Oops.” Nott smacked his lips, a cruel glint in his eyes.

Draco got up and tasted blood. His brow was busted. He clicked his tongue, annoyed. He was rubbish at healing spells, even with a good wand. He would have to ask Astoria to fix it, she would ask what happened, and god damn it, he hated Mondays.

Draco waited for Nott and the others to be out of view before climbing back up. He avoided the Great Hall, didn’t want to show his bloody face. Outside the doors, Filch announced him he had the next too hours at his disposal because Professor Maxwell, who taught Transfiguration, was in the hospital wing. Probably a victim of his own experimentations on Animagi that he _so_ loved to talk about.

Filch squinted at the blood on Draco’s face. Draco waved him away and earned himself a rude comment. He dragged himself down the steps, and onto the castle grounds.

 

 

 


	9. Harry - 3 - Thoughts of Malfoy

 

THOUGHTS OF MALFOY

 

 

“Hi Harry, how are you?”

Harry glanced up at the two giggling girls who passed him on their way to Care of Magical Creatures.

He waved feebly — he had no clue who they were— and resumed his comfortable position. He was lying on his back under a tree on the Hogwarts grounds, enjoying a surprisingly sunny autumn morning. He was not the only one. Most students who found out that their Transfiguration teacher, Professor Maxwell, had fallen ill again, had rushed outside to enjoy the weather.

Hermione insisted they go to the Library. Harry replied: “What kind of maniac would go to the library on a day like this?”, so an argument ensued between him and Hermione. It ended with poor Ron following his girlfriend to the library with as much reluctance as he could show, while Ginny, after hesitating, sighed and followed them.

Harry didn’t like to think of the look on Ginny’s face before she left. And he didn’t like to see the back of her. He hated to think about how he failed, time and time again, to focus on her and to love her like she deserved. He just had too much on his mind, and she couldn’t understand.

No one could understand, really. He didn’t understand it. If a Death Eater apparated on the grounds at this very instant, charging at Harry, life would be much, much simpler. In this situation, Harry would know what to do. And he berated himself for these thoughts.

Next to him, sitting against a tree, Luna was playing with her earrings. They were shaped like unicorns and made a funny sound, as if they were filled with sand.

“Are things alright between you and Ginny?”

Harry opened his eyes and met hers. When he saw her sitting by herself, he thought it would be a good idea to join her. But now that she meant to talk, he’d prefer she didn’t.

“It’s fine. We had a bit of a fight when we were in Hogsmeade. It was nothing.”

Nothing. Is that what you call your girlfriend shouting at you in the middle of the street, before setting off to a run and leaving you to enjoy the stares?

Luna blinked. “She mentioned something, yes. What happened?”

Harry sighed and propped himself up on his elbow. “It’s fine, really, we made up afterwards, but this morning, she was… I don’t know. Distant.”

“Why did you fight in the first place?”

“She thinks I’m…”

“Yes?”

He grimaced. “She thinks I’m obsessed with Malfoy.”

Luna assumed her pensive look. “Well, are you?”

Harry’s heart thumped in his chest. “No! But I…”

Luna waited patiently, a dreamy smile on her face. He thought he had nothing to lose anyway. 

“I guess,” he said. “I mean… I’ve been worried about what he’s been up to for so long, it’s like a… second nature.”

Second nature. Must be it. Must be why when he’s bored, lonely, or plain angry, it’s Malfoy’s face that floats in his mind.

“Mm.” She chewed on her lip. “In your defence, you were usually right whenever you suspected him.”

“Right?” Harry groaned with relief. “Thank you!”

“But what do you think he’s up to, this time?”

Harry sat up, his cheeks tingling. “That’s just the thing. I—”

“Oh! Isn’t that him, over there?”

Harry followed Luna’s gaze. Malfoy, uncharacteristically wild haired but sour faced, as usual, was trudging across the grounds and moping his face with a black handkerchief.

Harry’s breath itched and he squinted in the bright morning light. “Is that… blood?”

“I don’t know.” Luna said. “I hope not.”

Malfoy turned his head in their direction and with a jolt of the heart, Harry flattened himself to the ground. Luna, who didn’t move a finger, watched him through wide eyes.

“Are you ok, Harry?”

“What are you doing, he’ll see you!” Harry gestured her to lie down too. The last thing he needed was Malfoy suspecting him of… well, suspecting him.

“So what? We’re in the same school. We’re bound to meet at some point. See?” She pointed a finger over by the lake. “He’s sitting right there.”

Harry sprang upright and forced her arm down. “Stop this. He’ll see you.”

He threw a wary glance at Malfoy. He sat against a tree with a book on his lap and his head in his hand, not looking at all in Harry's direction. Classic.

“If he loses any more weight, he’ll drop dead,” Luna said, her brows furrowed.

Harry saw Malfoy’s pale arms sticking like bones out of his sleeves and nodded in agreement.

“It must be difficult, being on the loser side,” she added. “It appears that he has lost his friends.”

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Harry mumbled.

Luna rested her chin in her hand. “But everyone hates him. For bringing in the Death Eaters that attacked our school.”

“They shouldn’t,” Harry said a bit too vehemently. “They weren’t there, they don’t know what happened. They don’t know what was at stake for him.”

He fell silent, surprised at how fast he jumped to Malfoy’s defence.

“Oh I agree, Harry.” Luna closed her eyes and bathed her face in the sun. “I think I would have done many silly, silly things to protect my friends or my father. Just like my father did for me.”

Of course, she would know. She would know… Harry watched Luna in silence, and after a while, decided she was the one he could talk to.

“Do you think he’s being, I don’t know, bullied or something?”

Luna opened her eyes. “I’ve heard… things, but I really don’t know if they’re true.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry inched closer a bit too eagerly, and knocked down her bag. She didn’t notice.

“Only I’ve heard that he and Goyle are not friends anymore at all, and apparently they’re playing pranks on each other, or something.”

“Pranks?”

“Bad… pranks. Bad jokes. A bit like you and Malfoy, well, before.”

Pranks? What Malfoy and Harry did to each other weren’t pranks. They were more or less assaults, in the end. They also almost killed each other. They hated each other.

Yes. Hated. You don’t come back from that. You can’t.

Harry ground his jaw. “I don’t know what they’re doing, but Goyle keeps getting bigger and bigger. While Malfoy… I mean, look at him.”

“I don’t know, Harry. You know Malfoy can give as much as he gets.”

Harry got a flashback of Malfoy stomping on his nose with disgust painted on his face, and shrugged. “That’s true, but now he’s being watched, and I’m not sure…” His forehead hurt from too much frowning and he rubbed it with a hand. “I just wonder what happens behind closed doors.”

“What’s happening behind what door?”

On hearing Ron’s voice, Harry and Luna looked up and saw that he, Hermione and Ginny were approaching, accompanied by a grinning Neville. Ron looked ecstatic but Hermione seemed irritated and Ginny lagged behind with her arms crossed.

“So,” Ron repeated, and dropped down beside him. “What’s going on?”

Luna opened her mouth, but no word came out. Instead she looked back and forth between Ron and Harry.

Harry threw up his hands. “Look, I think Malfoy might be bullied.”

He cast a tentative look toward Ginny. She was rolling her eyes, and waited for Hermione to be seated to seat next to her.

Ron chuckled. “Malfoy being bullied? Life just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

“I agree,” Neville said, and landed ungracefully next to Ginny.

Harry turned to Hermione for support. She stared back with an unusually closed up expression. “I don’t know Harry. I haven’t heard anything.”

Harry’s muscles tensed. No one seemed to be taking this as seriously as him. Fine. It wouldn’t be the first time. Once again, he would prove them all wrong.

“Ok, let’s find out." He slapped his hands on his knees. "That time, in the Defence class, Goyle threw something at him. Remember?”

“Oh, yes,” Ron laughed. “I didn’t _see_ him throw it, though. All I saw was this.”

Ron imitated Malfoy clutching his face in pain and Ginny chortled.

“Well, I saw it.” Harry said, and pretended to be highly interested in a lonely daffodil at his feet.

“Lucky you, mate.” Ron turned to Neville, who nodded.

“I heard they're not friends anymore,” Luna said. “We don’t know what’s going on between these two.”

“Fine." Harry shrugged. “Then this: the blood. We just saw him, and he was bleeding, right, Luna?”

Everybody turned to Luna, who didn’t seem to relish in the attention, and Harry took the opportunity to throw a quick look at Malfoy. He was still reading under his tree with his hand pressed to his face and Harry couldn't spot any blood. 

“I don’t know that it was blood, but it looked like it, it’s true.” Luna sounded hesitant, not at all the kind of support he needed right now.

“Blood?” Hermione said. “He could be bleeding for all sorts of reasons. I mean, it’s Hogwarts.”

They all muttered in agreement.

“But he also looks sort of ill,” Harry said, weakly this time.

Ron snorted loudly. “Who cares. It’s Malfoy. And by the way, Harry, I’ll remind you that we did all kinds of things to him over the years, and you, especially—”

“I know!” Harry said, frustrated. “It’s just… It’s not the same now. He’s beaten. He's really beaten. What’s the point?”

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” Hermione said in a soft voice. “And Malfoy can take care of himself, Harry. You know that.”

“Do I? Really?” He tried not to sound hysterical but he was getting fed up with their lack of interest.

“Can we not worry about Draco-Fucking-Malfoy for another minute, please?” Ginny’s voice cracked through the air like an angry whip and Harry swallowed a lump.

“Agreed,” Ron said. He lay on his back and sighed. “I want to enjoy my break. Professor Maxwell is the best teacher I’ve ever met, being ill so often.”

“I just wished we’d stayed in the library,” Hermione said in a surly tone.

“There was no one there but Astoria,” Ginny said with a side glance at Harry. “Some of us need to see the daylight, you know.”

Harry kept quiet, but his jaw was so clenched it hurt. He spend the rest of the break chewing his nails in silence, ignoring his friends’ lighthearted banter.


	10. Draco - 5 - The True Face Of Theodore Nott

 

THE TRUE FACE OF THEODORE NOTT

 

 

 

The worst thing that can happen, is a concept. An idea. A haunting thought. Something to wake people at night.

Eighteen months ago, Draco thought that the worst thing that could happen was for the Dark Lord to murder his parents as he watched, helpless, crumpled onto the floor. He dreamt and he dreamt of it, as he worked on that wretched Vanishing Cabinet.

About six months ago, when Potter was duelling the Dark Lord, Draco repeated a silent prayer in his head for Potter to emerge the victor, because the worst thing that could happen would be to be enslaved forever in a Death Eater’s world.

Weeks ago, he believed the worst would be to find himself alone at Hogwarts, wandless, defenseless, alone.

Now, the worst thing in Draco’s life was an slimy bloke called Theodore Nott.

How does one go from fearing the greatest dark wizard that ever lived, to trembling before a nasty teenager?

In appearance, Nott wasn’t what you’d call threatening. He was tall, but not as much as Draco, and his large front teeth made him look like some sort of rabbit, but not a very cute rabbit, mind you, since Nott didn’t know how to smile without making himself look like a sinister figure from children’s bedtime stories.

He used to be scrawny, which meant that even without Goyle’s strength, Draco himself could have pushed him around. But he took up exercise when his father was locked up; now thin but sinewy, he was far fitter than Goyle whose fat had overcome his muscles, and Draco who’d become so frail, he had to avoid umbrellas on windy days for fear of being swept away.

Nott never raised a hand to anyone or used his wand to hex people in public, never spoke out of turn where anyone of consequence could have heard him. No teacher suspected him of wrongdoings. Gryffindor, like other houses, had no qualms with him. Everywhere he was either respected or at least tolerated, if not well liked. 

And that’s why he’d become such a threat.

He was smarter. Cunning. Invisible.

The truth was, at least in the beginning, it appeared that Nott blamed Draco and his relatives for his own family’s predicament. Nott’s father was arrested when Draco’s father and a group of Death Eaters attempted to steal something from the Ministry of Magic, only to get their ass handed over to them by Potter and Dumbledore. The Dark Lord got him out but he got captured again when the Battle of Hogwarts ended. He was rotting in Azakaban, just like Draco’s father.

Only he would rot in there much longer.

Nott’s step-mother escaped after the battle, and never bothered coming back. Draco once heard that a pair of Aurors had been dispatched to find her.

Nott spent one summer with his filthy rich, but ailing grandparents, and thought himself an orphan. And it was easier to blame it on Draco than on You-Know-Who, somehow.

With experience, everyone get some insights on life and other people. Draco had spent enough time surrounded by rotten witches and wizards to know that everyone has their own dark side, and at the center of that, a little button buried deep inside, itching to be pushed.

Whether it was because Theodore was getting older and found it more difficult to pose as normal, or was it because Draco inadvertently pushed that button? He would never be sure. But ever since that morning he knew there was something really wrong with Nott.

And like most of Draco problems this year, it all started with Pansy.

Draco didn’t think himself the cleverest of young men, but it was obvious Nott had something for Pansy and she could smell that like a wolf smelling a wounded deer.

Despite the clear animosity Pansy felt toward him, Draco thought perhaps Nott was jealous of what might have conspired between them.

Meaning, _yes_ …

That ill-fated evening in a dim corridor with his hands up her shirt, and her, squirming and squealing like a puppy, while he was unable to focus on the task at hand, too worried about Potter suspecting his involvment with the Dark Lord.

Her reproachful stare when she found him soft and useless to her touch.

She left without looking back and he ran in the opposite direction, locked himself in Mirtle’s bathroom.

They never spoke of it again.

Now Draco wasn’t sure what Nott really believed, or cared for, at all. And he would never assume again.

The night before his face to face with Nott, Draco was studying in the common room, an hour before midnight, not in any hurry to return to his dormitory. If Nott was bored then Goyle would start making noises, throw insults, take his blanket, and the days were getting colder, so Draco tried his best to get in bed when they all had had a chance to fall asleep.

Astoria had lingered, but she never went to bed later that nine in the evening. Now that Draco was almost certain she used Occlumency from dawn to dusk, he was no longer astonished that she was exhausted after dark. Why did she feel the need to do something like that, was a mystery too him. He would ask her, one day, when he wouldn’t worry about losing her over a sensitive question anymore.

So here he was, studying alone in his favourite armchair in front of the fireplace, preparing for his next Defense Against The Dark Arts lesson. He had a feeling he wasn’t alone, so he braced himself and took a peek around his shoulder, ready to face his fate.

Surprise dawned on his face when he saw Pansy, in her nightrobe, glowering at him. He scrambled to his feet, pages of his essay spilling out of his hands.

“Pansy…”

There was a time when he could have said any stupid shit and she would have drank it like mother’s milk. Now he didn’t know how to address her at all.

“Draco.”

He didn’t move when she approached him, when she caressed the back of the armchair he had just sat on, when she squeezed the leather tight until her knuckles turned white. He merely clutched his essay to his chest, his throat dry.

But when she opened her eyes he took a step back and almost stumbled into the fireplace in shock. They were brimming with tears.

“Why her?” Pancy said in a whiny voice.

Draco’s heart thumped in his chest. He felt more threatened by a conversation with her than by Goyle’s fists.

“I… I didn’t know you’d care.”

“Care?” She laughed, a mirthless laugh. “Care! I don’t _care_. I just want to know what she has that I don’t.”

Nice eyes? Brain cells? A moral compass? He bit his tongue, unwilling to anger her.

He wasn’t exactly afraid of Pancy. After all, she wasn’t very smart. But she could do things with a wand, and a few words from her could earn him a lot of trouble with Nott and Goyle.

“You know…” The smile she cast didn’t reach her eyes. “I really believed that you were just… you know…”

“What?”

She leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “You know. A homo.”

Draco straightened up. “Right.”

He hoped she couldn’t hear his turmoil, his blood pumping so fast that he could feel his heart beat in his ears.

“You and I were pretty close,” she went on with shiny eyes. “Until the day I tried to take it further.”

Pretty close… When was that? He tried to remember any instance where they were and couldn’t grasp a relevant memory. He let his arms fall to his side.

“What do you want me to say…”

Pansy’s expression went from supplicant to furious in a blink. “Then why do I find you cozied up with this miserable slut!” She clawed at the back of the armchair and the leather squeaked as if in pain.

Merlin, don’t let her hear you, Draco thought. A chill went through him.

He didn’t have time to come up with a good, or a bad lie for that matter, because across the room, Nott emerged noiselessly from the darkness, trailed by Goyle and a yawning Blaise.

Things couldn’t possibly get worse, unless Potter suddenly appeared, swinging from the chandelier, to witness his humiliation.

Unlikely, though.

“What’s going on here?” Nott asked in a soft voice.

“You said you heard Pansy scream,” Blaise told him with a scathing look. “It’s only bloody Malfoy. I’m going back to bed.”

“No, stay,” Nott said. “We’ll have fun.”

Draco took a step back and winced when the heat from the flames behind him tickled his legs through his clothes. Goyle grinned and Blaise rolled his eyes, but stayed put.

Using Occlumency to conceal his growing anxiety, Draco looked around at Pansy. All traces of tears were gone, and she’d plastered a fake smile on her face.

“Good, you’re here. I wasn’t having so much fun on my own.”

Nott glided to her and only refrained from touching her because she watched his hand move with her eyebrows raised.

“I was just congratulating myself out loud for my narrow escape from Draco, here,” Pansy said in a forcefully cheerful voice. “Imagine that. To be chained to a gay man.”

Goyle guffawed and Nott’s jaw twitched. Blaise fought back a yawn, and lost. Then his eyes slowly widened in surprise. He pointed at Draco.

“Wait, you really are gay? No way! I thought that was a joke.” He gave him an contemptuous look that Draco returned with interest. “I’ve never seen a real one before.” Blaise turned to Pansy. “You keep saying you knew all along but you never told us why.”

Pansy merely shrugged, her smile frozen on her face.

“Go on then, tell him,” Nott said softly.

Pansy’s grin faltered. “What do you think?” Anger made her sound hysterical. “He couldn’t get it up with _me_ when he had the chance!”

“Hm.” Nott bit the tip of his thumb.

Blaise sized Pansy up with lukewarm interest and shrugged. Goyle glanced between Draco and Pansy with an air of absolute confusion.

Draco was shaking all over, though he didn’t know if it was from fear, rage, or lassitude.

“I’m not gay!” He shouted. “I obviously had other things in my mind when you, when you—”

“Yes, of course, that’s what you’d say.” She let out a loud, dramatic sigh and leaned into Nott, whose eyes bulged in delighted surprise.

“What if I just wasn’t into you!” Draco spat. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Pansy, with a hurt look, balled her hands into fists. “You—”

“That’s right.” Draco felt emboldened by her reaction. “You’d rather tell everyone I’m gay, than admitting _I just didn’t like_ _you_.”

If she could have killed with a stare, he would have died right now.

“Liar!” she screamed.

Blaise stepped up and put his hand on her shoulder to quiet her. “So are you, or are you not with Astoria Winterburns?”

Draco stared, taken aback. “What?”

“Are you gay or are you with Winterburns?”

Draco’s face grew hot. “No, I’m not.”

“Not gay or not with her?” Blaise insisted.

Pansy looked about to explode. Nott was listening with an air of polite interest betrayed only by the cruel glint in his eyes, and Goyle still looked like he’s just been asked how to solve the mystery of life.

“Both, you fucking twat!”

Pansy gasped, Goyle growled, and Nott chuckled. Angry at his own lack of control, Draco bit the inside of his cheek and drew blood.

Blaise ignored him. “Great, then I’ll ask her out. She’s hot.”

“No, she’s not!“ Pansy snapped. “And that’s not what this is about!”

“No, it’s not,” Nott mused with a grin.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Blaise turned his back on them. “I’m going back to bed. I don’t give a shit about all that.”

Pansy glared, Nott shrugged and Goyle stood limply with his mouth hanging open as Blaise walked back to his dorm.

“What was it about, again?” Nott asked with a slight frown.

Goyle nodded stupidly.

Pansy sighed and stared into Nott’s eyes. “Any man who refuses me should be utterly and irrevocably _punished_.”

Draco didn’t like the sound of that.

“Should he, now…” A slow, creepy smile stole across Nott’s face.

She giggled and he pulled her close.

Draco watched them with disgust, and noticed Goyle was doing the same.

“Nothing would make me happier.” Pancy said, her eyes fixed on Draco.

With a resigned sigh, Draco hung his head and waited for a blow, but nothing came.

“Get out of here, Malfoy,” Nott said quietly.

Draco snapped his head up. Nott was picking at his nails, looking bored. Draco noticed Goyle’s disappointed expression and Pansy’s outraged side glance at her boyfriend, but didn’t wait for them to change his mind. He took off running, only stopping when he reached his poster bed.

Goyle and Nott entered the dormitory soon after and went straight to bed. His heart thumping in his chest, Draco listened hard, until Goyle’s snoring filled the room and his whole body relaxed in a blink.

He couldn’t believe his luck. To be cornered by them and to receive only the usual slur. He was too tired to think anything of it. Relief washed over him and he fell asleep still dressed and clutching his essay.

 

Draco woke up earlier than usual so he could avoid using the showers at the same time as the other boys. He preferred to use the bathroom half an hour before them, because the younger children were always staring at the horrid mark on his arm, and his former mates, well, his former mates were always taunting.

This morning, he was an hour early. He’d slept well and his head was clear. Whatever break Nott gave him last night wouldn’t last. He would rather not be there when they changed their mind about avenging Pansy's pride.

If only he’d managed to shag her, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. She would have likely commented on the side of his manhood, as some girls do. She would have claimed he was terrible at it, and probably wouldn’t have had to lie, but she wouldn’t have come to the conclusion he was a faggot.

If only he’d been able to get it up…

He gasped. Speaking of getting it up, he thought with a jolt of fear, he had to warn Astoria that Blaise had noticed her existence. A while ago Zabini boasted he’d never touch a filthy blood traitor no matter what she looked like. Now look at him, chasing after the daughter of a notorious Pure-Blood killer.

Would he hurt her? Probably not. Blaise was too lazy to hurt anybody. But he didn’t like being humiliated. He might tell his friends about it, and Pansy already hated her… called her a ‘miserable slut’…And nothing good would come of that.

Scorching water flowed from the sprinkles and poured over him. He wrapped his arms around himself, allowing his body to shiver unnoticed.

It wouldn’t be long now. December approached, and with it, the promise of the holidays away from this place. Then another six months, and he’d be free. He had it worse when the Dark Lord lived in his house, corrupting everything he touched. He had it worse.

“That’s where you’re hiding, then.”

Draco startled. Nott’s voice, soft and friendly, sounded like a caress. A lie, like everything else about him.

Draco remained frozen on the spot, naked, vulnerable, and felt his enemy’s eyes on him. He blinked hard, forcing himself to snap out of it, and switched the water off. He reached out for a towel and hurriedly wrapped it around his waist, careful not to turn around and face Nott.

He couldn’t deny his profound relief when a quick glance over his shoulder informed him Nott was very much alone, and leaning against the opposite wall of the showers.

Draco tried to sound firm, confident. “What do you want?”

He waited. No sounds. Perhaps he left after all…

His answer came in the form of a punch in the small of his back that knocked the air out of him and slammed him against the tiles. Nott grabbed him by the neck, and used his own weight to hold him there.

Draco gasped for air. When did Nott become so strong? He shot a glance at his wand, resting neatly on his pile of fresh clothes, out of reach. Even if he could summon it through sheer willpower, what good would it do?

“What the fuck do you want?”

His voice broke and he groaned, in pain from Nott pressure on his back and neck, and in frustration at his inability to do anything about it.

“I believe her, you know,” Nott said quietly.

He let out a deep sigh, almost mournful. Draco felt his breath, hot of his neck. He struggled to break free but his feeble body was no match for Nott’s.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Pansy. I believe her, you know.”

“Brilliant. I’m happy for you, rea—”

He cried out in pain. Nott ground his face against the wall and dug something into his back. Draco recognized the tip of a wand. His heart seized up.

“Wait.”

Getting hit by Goyle was one thing. Getting hexed by the son of a Death Eater, who might know all sorts of irreversible dark spells, was another.

He had never felt so defenseless in his life. His thoughts fluttered madly around his head. His wand. His mother. Snape. Potter.

“Look, Theo.” His voice came out high-pitched and revolted him.

“ _Look_ , _Theo!"_ Nott chuckled. "Nice try.”

“If you want to be with Pansy, it’s fine, I mean it, just—“

He laughed harder, but he didn’t let him go. “You think I’d need your blessing if I wanted Pansy?”

“What do you want, then?”

Nott sighed again and laid his cheek against Draco’s shoulder.

Draco held his breath. Something pushed between his thighs. Nott forced his knee between his legs, spreading them apart. Draco felt his towel being pulled from his waist. Panic assailed him, and he jerked back in a last attempt to break free, to no avail.

“No.” He reached out behind him and grasped Nott’s sleeve. “Listen—”

“Shh. It’s okay.” Nott’s breath burned into Draco’s neck. “I just wanted to let you know that I know what you are. And I know what you want.”

Nott’s grip on Draco relaxed, as if he hesitated. Then he clamped on him even harder.

Draco’s cheek, crushed against the tiles, throbbed painfully. Now would be the time for someone to show up. Someone had to show up. Where was everyone? Why was he so early? He promised himself never to shower again if he survived this.

Nott began to hum. Draco felt the tip of his wand draw a line across his back. It went down and down until it reached a place that filled his eyes with frightened tears.

“Wait, wait, wait.”

Nott stopped humming and Draco glanced up at the ceiling. He didn’t think he had the words to stop this from happening, and yet that’s all he had left. 

“I’ve never done anything to you, personally, but I’m sorry anyway.” His voice broke again. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”

Nott snorted. The sound echoed cruelly in the sparkling bathroom. He gave Draco’s neck a squeeze, and released him.

“Relax, love. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re so dramatic.”

Draco’s lungs filled with air and he coughed. He held onto the wall, his legs shaking violently,. But he didn’t dare move, least of all turn around in his naked state.

“I just wanted you to know, that’s all,” Nott said, his soft voice turning Draco’s stomach. “That I can make you my bitch.”

He grasped a handful of Draco’s hair and before he could resist, slammed his head against the tiles; hot blood poured down his face and into his eye.

“Oops.” Nott sighed playfully. “Small payback for what your family did to me.”

Draco screwed his eyes shut and waited, trembling, freezing in the empty showers. When he finally opened them, Nott was gone. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor.

An image flashed across his mind of flying through the licking flames, Harry Potter’s body pressed against his, and he almost retched on the tiles.

“Fuck you.” His voice sounded hoarse, like a stranger’s.

He pulled himself up and dragged himself to a mirror. His eyebrow again. He watched his bloodied face with heinous eyes.

“And fuck _you_.”

With a cry of rage, he grabbed his wand, aimed it at his face, closed his eyes, spat the words. The spell could go wrong, he could disfigure himself. No matter.

His face turned hot, then cold, then nothing.

He opened his eyes. All traces were gone. It was like it never happened at all.

In his eyes too, he found no trace of fear, pain, or shame. It all got spirited away.

Empty as he was now, he felt almost free.


	11. Harry - 4 - The Lesson

 

THE LESSON

 

 

That morning Harry sat up straight in Defence Against the Dark Arts with his manual opened in front of him, determined to pay attention, for once, and not spend another lesson throwing glances at Malfoy and earning angry stares from Ginny.

Professor Belmore was summarizing what they had learnt in their last lesson in her usual clear, passionate voice, and most students listened to her words with avidity. Most.

On the table to his left, Malfoy had his nose in his sleeve and the Astoria girl had her eyes on Malfoy.

“Today,” Professor Belmore said, “we’ll study the difficult, yet astonishing cures you can make from Isychia snakes. They live a quiet life in dark places, like caves, away from other species. They spend most of their existence on their own, and they’re very rare.”

In front of him Ron yawned loudly, and Hermione punched him lightly in the shoulder.

Ginny chuckled on Harry’s right. “They made out all night. Or worse.”

“What?” Harry tore away from the professor to look at her. “Where?”

“Oh, there are places,” Ginny said in an enigmatic tone.

“There’s no more Room of Requirement.”

“There are other places.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Places we should know about. Soon.”

He smiled, and felt himself blush, so he looked away.

Why? Was she offering… something? Was he not interested in taking it?

He was. He really was. It’s just that…

Everything was too complicated. Better to stick to the lesson instead.

“…bad reputation associated with Basilisks because of their threatening appearance and their size, but they are known to save lives…”

Reluctantly, Harry forced himself to take notes. He had seen enough snakes for a lifetime.

Two tables ahead of Malfoy and his friend, Pansy giggled at something Theodore Nott said in her ear. She threw her head back to glance around at Malfoy and laughed some more.

Malfoy didn’t react, but Professor Belmore turned to Pansy.

“Miss Parkinson, please.”

“Sorry Professor,” she said with mock concern.

Harry stole another look toward Malfoy’s table. His friend was whispering something to him. Malfoy removed his face from his sleeve with a sigh. The dark circles under his eyes had grown exponentially since the last time Harry  ~~studied~~  saw his face.

“… domesticated can even be friendly, and fiercely loyal,” Professor Belmore went on. Harry picked up his quill. “You do not need Parseltongue to befriend such a snake, though they will feel compelled to obey an order in Parseltongue. It would do you good not to subjugate them, because their powers are at their strongest when they are offered willingly.”

“What do they offer?” Neville asked, and Harry felt embarrassed for not being as involved in the lesson as he was.

Harry saw Nott slip a note into Blaise’s reached out hand behind the Professor’s back. Pansy watched, smirking. Harry fidgeted in his seat.

“… as well as tears, flesh, bones, blood. Important ingredients that you can use most notably in Potions. It’s advanced level Potions, mind you, and even then. Way beyond N.E.W.Ts level. But even if you don’t get to study this matter with Professor Slughorn, it might be good to know enough about the cures, as it might appear in your DATDA written exam.”

Goyle erupted into a trollish laughter and Blaise made a disgusted grimace before sticking the note into his mouth. Edible parchment from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Shame. Harry wouldn’t get his hands on this one.

“Hush, there, Mr Goyle.” the Professor sighed.

Malfoy gazed ahead with a blank face. If the note was about him, it definitely did not affect him.

Good, Harry guessed. He ignored the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

“… a cure for many, many things, including physical ailments, long standing mental ailments, love potions gone wrong, and when brewed right through a very difficult and time-consuming process, can reverse the effects dark magic can have on the soul.”

Several students made sounds of astonishment. Harry could tell from the back of Hermione’s head that she was writing down every word with an enthusiasm close to fanaticism.

“Can they reverse the effects of stupidity?” Goyle asked, with a pointed look toward Malfoy, who was not even listening at all.

At this level he would fail his N.E.W.Ts, Harry thought with alarm. Alarm at being worried about Malfoy’s bloody exams.

“Funny  _you_  should ask,” Harry said without thinking.

He gulped down when he felt everyone’s eyes fixed on him. Ron turned around and gave him the thumbs up.

“Harry…” Professor Belmore held up a finger.

“Sorry Professor,” Harry said, not unlike Pansy.

Goyle opened his mouth but Nott elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up.

“In conclusion, to find such a snake is rare, and to domesticate it, even more difficult. But the rewards are astonishing. Unfortunately, they’re short lived. And we don’t know exactly where they live. They might turn up, they might not. Just be ready in case you meet one.” Professor Belmore turned to Goyle, her lips pinched. “And take notes, Mr Goyle! Take notes! I understand this is a special year and everybody’s got to try their best to get any N.E.W.Ts, but honestly, you’re not even trying. Is there anything you’re good at?”

“I heard the Carrows taught him a pretty good Cruciatus,” Harry said.

A wave of shock rippled through the whole classroom. Professor Belmore clutched her chest with bulging eyes.

“Harry, please! This is a classroom!”

Ginny gripped his hand. “Harry what the fuck?”

Harry ignored her, too busy smirking at Goyle who looked like he wanted to disappear into his chair. He glanced at Malfoy to his left. To his surprise, he found Malfoy staring back.

Harry’s breath itched. There was nothing in Malfoy’s eyes. Only a deep, bottomless void where the usual contempt for Harry should be.

Malfoy turned away and hid his face with his hand. Something was happening to him, Harry thought with dread. It fell to him to find out what. And no one would stand in his way.

 

Harry waited until the end of the lesson to corner Malfoy. He told Ron and Hermione a lie about running to his dormitory to pick up a book. Ginny eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.

When they took off toward Herbology, Harry ran in the opposite direction against the tide of students. After a few seconds he noticed Malfoy and his little friend on their way to Arithmancy, the other lesson they didn’t share together.

(An information that Harry felt he needed to possess, if only to make sure Malfoy wasn’t up to anything dangerous, of course.)

A trio of tall Hufflepuff boys deliberately knocked Malfoy aside, snickering, and Harry gave them a hard look. They dipped their heads, embarrassed. Malfoy acted as if nothing happened. Harry picked up the pace, worried of losing him into the crowd.

“Malfoy.”

Nothing.

“Hey!”

Harry pushed past a group of giggling girls with a frustrated sigh. “Hey, Malfoy!”

Malfoy went on, pretending not to hear him, but increased his speed, followed by the girl.

“Malfoy, for fuck’s sake!”

Malfoy whipped around, his face flushed.

“What!”  A strand of hair fell into his eye. He shoved it away with shaky fingers.

“Er—” Harry hesitated.

He noticed Malfoy’s friend standing next to him and did a double take when he saw her face up-close. He stared into her blue eyes. With a mixture of haughtiness and nonchalance, she stared back and Harry gulped down noisily.

“H—Hi,” he said to her.

“What, Potter!” Malfoy spat. “I don’t have all day!”

Harry focused back on Malfoy. The look in his eyes didn’t match the hatred in his voice. He looked like a tired old man.

“Malfoy. Can I talk to you?” Realising the bizarreness of his request, Harry felt an embarrassing heat creep up his cheeks.

Malfoy huffed. “Huh... No.”

He turned around and disappeared into the crowd. His friend hovered an instant, her face blank, then she followed Malfoy.

Harry ran his hand through his hair.

“That went really well,” he muttered to himself.

He turned back and made his way to Herbology, distracted by thoughts of Malfoy’s dead eyes and Astoria’s intriguing ones.

 


	12. Harry - 5 - Saviour Complex

 

SAVIOUR COMPLEX

 

 

“You didn’t get your book,” Ginny said when he sat next to her in Herbology.

“What?”

“The book you were supposed to get from your dormitory.”

Harry had totally forgotten about that.

“I changed my mind,” he said.

He laughed if off, a little bit too loud, and his heart sank when he saw Ginny’s hurt expression.

Harry knew this was definitely the wrong thing to do, but since no one but Luna seemed to believe him when he shared his concerns, he decided to get to the bottom of Malfoy’s troubles on his own. And for that, he had to lie.

Ron and Hermione were easy to lie to at the moment, because they had almost only one thing in mind, and he was not talking about N.E.W.T.s.

Come to think of it, most of the students their age didn’t have much else in mind.

Those who inexplicably didn’t have a girlfriend, like Neville, whose groupies were near as numerous and insistent as Harry’s, dove head first into a hobby and pretended not to think about it. Some, like Luna, needed a little bit of work. Dean Thomas was working on it with maddening patience, because he was crazy about her. But that didn’t mean the thing wasn’t constantly in his mind.

For Harry, it was different. He didn’t have time to think about it. Not since he suspected some nasty activity from Malfoy’s former friends.

That was the thing he obsessed about.

But perhaps Ginny had other things in mind, because she seemed increasingly hurt and fed-up with him, and despite the fact that he knew about it, he just couldn’t help avoiding it, avoiding her, and making them both miserable in the process.

But it was better than to get into a fight over Malfoy again.

So Harry wolfed down his lunch in record time, lied about having to rush to the common room to finish an essay on Charms, ignored Ginny’s mournful stare and dashed toward the second-floor girls’ bathroom. The idea came to him when he saw Near-Headless Nick sitting at their table, amusing a group of first years with his near-headless trick.

There was someone in this castle who somehow both cared about Malfoy and liked Harry enough to let him know if he was in trouble.

He wrenched the bathroom door open, slipped on the wet floor, lost his balance, and slammed into the nearest stall. She’d flooded the bathroom again. As he rubbed his throbbing shoulder and cursed Moaning Mirtle under his breath, he heard the plaintive wail that was her voice, and she appeared before him with an exaggeratedly angry expression that poorly concealed her glee.

“You… You never visit me. You’ve forgotten all about me.” She tilted her head and fluttered her eyelids.

“Er… I’m here, aren’t I?” Harry lied, and felt himself blushing.

“So, you’ve come for me? Really?”

She didn’t believe him. After all, she’d been around for decades. She could probably fish out deceit as well as a Sneakoscope.

“No, not really. But it’s about a friend of yours.”

She let out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t have any friends. You know it and you never visit anyway.”

“I’m talking about Malfoy.”

She perked up, and Harry’s heart bounced up hopefully.

“Draco?” She looked toward the ceiling and licked her lips. “Mmm, sweet Draco.”

Harry grimaced. There was nothing sweet about Draco, and the mere thought of he and Mirtle together made Harry want to barf into the nearest toilet.

“So, have you seen him?”

“Who?”

Harry shook his head, irritated. “Malfoy!”

She narrowed her eyes: “Why? You want to kill him again?” There was a hint of a smile on her face.

Harry lost patience: “I never wanted to kill him, god damn it!”

She opened her mouth in a snarl. “It sure looked like it to me!” Then she smirked. “And to him.”

She glided away. Harry remembered Malfoy spread out on the floor, blood gushing from the wounds he had inflicted him, and his throat tightened with guilt.

“Please, Mirtle, just tell me if you’ve seen him.”

She watched him with cold eyes. “I haven’t, because just like you, he’s forgotten that I exist, because you boys are all the same.”

Harry’s hopes plummeted.

Mirtle turned her back on him. “And I would appreciate you not coming here to insult me, Harry Potter!”

She started wailing, and Harry retreated back, vaguely disgusted.

When he got back, tail between his legs, to the common room, he found Ginny waiting for him, with that blazing look that was as exhilarating as threatening, and almost reached out for his wand to cast a shielding charm.

“You’re going to tell me where you were, and you’re going to tell me right now!”

Harry heard her mother Molly in her voice, and would have been amused if she wasn’t that terrifying.

He opened his mouth but she raised a hand to silence him. “And don’t insult me by giving me this stupid excuse about your Charms essay. I know you don’t give a damn about the essay.”

Harry’s throat went dry. He shifted from one foot to the other, unsure what to say.

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, her head held high. “Is it Malfoy?”

Harry glanced around the room in panic. “Who?”

“Are you still pursuing the mental idea that he’s in some sort of danger? Is that it?”

His shoulders sagged and he stared at his feet, embarrassed. “Yes.”

She threw her hands up. “Why? Why!”

Harry approached her and seized her hands. “I think he’s being bullied. I’m almost certain now. You should have seen him this morning!”

She stared into his eyes as if trying to read his mind. “But why do you care if Malfoy is being bullied?”

He scoffed and let go of her. “Really, Ginny?”

“Yes. Really. Why do you care? It’s Malfoy! He tried to use a Cruciatus curse on you. He almost killed Katie, and my brother, your best friend by the way. He called Hermione a Mudblood and my family blood traitors. He was a Death Eater, and you took shit from him for years. Who cares if it’s his turn now? It’s Malfoy!”

Harry looked at her, crestfallen. For the first time he felt a strange, nauseating disappointment toward her.

“It’s the right thing to do,” he said quietly.

“Really?” she quirked her eyebrows. “Harry. Malfoy is a piece of shit. I can’t care less about what happens to him. You’ve always hated him. Why on earth—”

“Dumbledore would have done it.” 

His chilling tone surprised him. It surprised Ginny too. She recoiled in anger.

“Dumbledore. Dumbledore would have, what— _befriended_ Death Eaters?”

“Yes, he would have.” Harry held his ground. “Former Death Eaters. He did it with Snape!”

“Snape and Malfoy are not the same. Snape was a double agent. Malfoy is a coward who'll turn on anyone for his own benefit. Harry, remember what he did!”

“I remember very well!” Harry rubbed his eyes in frustration. “I was there most of the time! I was here when he refused to kill Dumbledore, I saw him terrorized in his own home, I saved his ass in the Room of Requirements and I used his wand to kill Voldemort. I was there!”

She drew in a sharp breath, but he could see in her eyes that he hit a nerve and she was slowly conceding.

“And what makes you think Malfoy even wants to be your friend?” she said, not looking at Harry.

“I don’t mean to become his friend, exactly.” He raked a hand through his hair with an embarrassed chuckle. “It’s Malfoy. We’re more likely to exchange blows than words. I just want to find out if he’s ok.”

Ginny sighed and shook her head. Harry watched her with longing. He so wanted her to understand.

“Harry, I get that you have some sort of saviour complex, but this is starting to get ridiculous.”

Harry repeated the words slowly in his head. 

“What do you mean, saviour complex...And what do you mean, ridiculous?”

“Harry, I’m right here!” she said, her eyes pleading. “And you don’t see me anymore. You look right through me! You don’t even speak to me. Don’t you want me anymore?”

Pain gripped Harry’s chest. He realised it was all true. He watched her beautiful face contorted with fear, and worry, and felt like hugging her, kissing her, telling her everything would be all right.

But he didn’t move.

“I do,” he said softly. “Ginny, you know I do. I just have to do this. I just have to know, that’s all.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, her eyes glinting strangely. He worried she was about to cry. Ginny never cried.

“How? How are you going to find out? Malfoy hates your guts. Do you really think he’s going to confide in you? There’s no way. You’d had to be a fool to even try.”

Harry remembered his painful encounter with Draco this morning and averted her eyes.

“Yeah, I believe you’re right on that one.” He looked up. “I’ll talk to his friend. Astoria.”

“No!” Ginny shouted, startling him. She saw that and approached him, palms up. “I can do that, I’ll talk to her. I know her, you don’t.”

Harry shrugged. “You know her as well as I do, now. I can do this.”

“Fine!” Her eyes flashed with exasperation. “Be like this.”

She pushed passed him and dashed out of the portrait hole with tears in her eyes. Angry at what he felt was a disproportionate reaction, Harry kicked an armchair and cried out in pain.

“Fuck!”

“Harry?”

Harry hopped around and saw Neville standing at the bottom of the stairs to the dormitory, looking as if he’d just witnessed a crime.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but… Is everything ok, mate?”

Harry sighed. “Fine, Neville. Everything’s just fine. I just… I have a saviour complex, apparently.”

Neville approached him with a smile. “For all its worth, Harry, I’m glad you do. Saved us all a lot of trouble, didn’t it? Your saviour complex?”

Harry scoffed. "It had its uses." He looked up at the kind, earnest face of Neville. He'd grown into a fine bloke.

“The world needs more people like you Neville.” He patted his shoulder.

“Does it? I don’t know,” Neville said, pensive. “But you… you go and do what you have to do.”

"If you knew what I wanted to do, you wouldn't like me so much anymore." Harry sighed.

"No, you're wrong. Whatever you have to do, I support you, Harry."

Harry felt a sudden rush of emotions. “Thanks, mate.”

Neville’s trust in his abilities had sparked his self-confidence. Harry knew what he had to do.

He turned around and climbed out of the portrait hole, his heart pounding.

He would get to the bottom of this. And no one would stand in his way.


	13. Astoria - 2 - Meeting Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I fucked up last time and published my chapters in the wrong order. 
> 
> Now they're back in the right order, so it should make more sense.
> 
> (and yes eventually Nott gets what was coming to him.)  
> (No, not anytime soon. But he'll get it.)

 

MEETING HARRY POTTER

 

  

After classes Astoria headed to the library in a daze, concerned for Draco Malfoy. She had a gnawing feeling someone had been particularly mean to him last night.

Until now, he had displayed a tendency to deride his misadventures, as much for his sake, she suspected, as for hers. She had fixed his face half a dozen times. He would pout, embarrassed, lie, avoid her questions. Then he would make a self-deprecating joke about the whole thing a few minutes later, as if was all forgotten.

This morning he was different. He worried his bottom lip so badly, that she had to comment on it. He ignored her. Then he chewed on his clean, well-trimmed nails until they bled. She refrained to comment on it.

When afterwards, he almost bit Harry Potter’s head off, which was standard practice for him, she felt relieved. Things appeared to be back to normal. But they weren’t. He earned himself detention from Professor Vector because he wasn’t paying attention, and because he shrugged rudely when she asked him to focus.

Astoria wanted it to stop. But she didn’t know how to stop it. How to stop anything. Like the inappropriate deluge of emotions she’d been feeling lately, despite her better self.

She only snapped out of her reverie when, halfway through the library, she slammed, head first, into a boy.

Astoria glanced up. Blaise Zabini was standing in front of her, chest out, chin high, his almond eyes fixed on her in a cool, hoity-toity manner not unlike her nanny Agatha.

She’d never heard more than two sentences from Blaise Zabini. One was when she was in third year, about a Quidditch match she didn’t attend. The other happened last year: he asked her to pass him a dish. Aspergus, if she recalled correctly.

Astoria didn’t want to speak to Blaise Zabini, whom she so far considered to be a pompous waste of a wizard. But life was full of small vexations just like this one. So she waited for him to speak with an air of politeness.

“Hello, there.” He spoke in a bored voice, as if he were, somehow, sacrificing his precious time to do her a favour. “I know I’m being blunt, but I don’t like wasting my time.”

That made two of them, she thought with lukewarm interest.

He went on: “Do you want to go out with me?”

His words though, didn’t make much sense.

“Go out…” She frowned. “Is that a proposition?”

He blinked once, slowly. “Yes, it is.”

“To… duel?”

“No, not to duel." He clicked his tongue. “To snog.”

A lump got caught in her throat. She swallowed and coughed. “Snog?”

“Yeah, snog." He sounded impatient. "Have you been living in a cave?”

“No, not lately, why?”

“Is it because of Malfoy?” Blaise Zabini wrinkled his nose. “He’s gay, you know. And his family’s ruined.”

Lies. Malfoy’s family wasn’t ruined. Draco’s winter cloak cost more than her house. Or so he told her once, when he noticed her smile after he'd tripped on it.

Blaise leaned against the stone wall and ran his tongue across his lips. “With a face like yours, you can do better, clearly.”

“Clearly…” She startled. “Oh, you mean with you.”

“Yes, with me!” His nostrils flared and his mouth opened in a unseemly snarl. “You’re not very smart, are you? It’s ok, I don’t exactly need you to talk. Just the snogging’s fine. But also, if we could be seen together, that would be helpful. You see, I’m trying to get accepted in this...”

She tuned him out and hesitated to turn around, in case he might follow her to the common room and say more annoying things. Plus she had arranged a fun evening at the library and this hormones-filled ruffian was getting in the way of her plan.

“So, you want to or not?” He drew nearer. “You’re attractive, I’m attractive, it makes sense. But nothing serious, right? Just a bit of fun.”

Alarmed, Astoria quickly pondered how “fun” the act of shoving one’s tongue into the other’s mouth could be, honestly, compared to reading books in the library. She’d rather exchange thoughts than bacterias, even if Blaise Zabini had a pleasurably symmetrical face. In such a short amount of time and without having considered all the factors at hand, she couldn’t reach a conclusion that would possibly satisfy this boy.

She was about to tell him just that, but the sound of rapid footsteps coming from behind forced her to turn around to see who was coming.

“Hey, hello!”

A windswept, flushed Harry Potter was charging toward them. He stopped, panting, and bent over to catch his breath, with one hand raised to indicate he needed a second. Then, ignoring Blaise, he insinuated himself between him and Astoria, until he felt his cold, disapproving stare on him.

“Hey, Zabini. Do you mind?”

Blaise Zabini huffed, and glanced at Astoria. “My answer?”

Astoria looked back and forth between Blaise and Harry with wide eyes. Harry Potter turned to Blaise.

“Look, get lost. I need to speak to her. It’s important.”

Blaise pursed his lips, his face showing nothing but contempt for Harry Potter. However, he left without a word.

With an inward smile, Astoria made a mental note to thank Harry Potter later for getting her out of this bizarre conversation.

“Astoria, right?” Harry Potter asked, his eyebrow quirked.

Oh, he really did want to talk to her. She blinked quickly to recover from the shock.

“I’m Harry Potter,” he said. Then he cursed under his breath.

She pretended not to have heard anything. “Oh, hello.”

People say that.

“Yes, hi.”

He was trying his best to avoid looking at her. Whatever he was about to say was of the embarrassing kind. She hoped it wasn’t one of these apparently endless topics of which she knew nothing about.

“Er...“

He stood there, staring at his shoes with his hands in his pockets for several long seconds, while Astoria took him in. He was shorter than Draco. His hair seemed to have a volition of its own. He had vivid green eyes dissimulated behind ugly glasses. His fingers were neat, and looked strong. This was the man that killed Voldemort.

Something shifted in the pit of her belly and startled her.

“So, Astoria, I’m not going to beat about the bush here—” He shot her a quick, nervous look.“It’s about Malfoy.”

Oh thank Merlin. A subject she knew well. She could pass this test. The strange feeling in her belly subsided.

Meanwhile Harry Potter freed his hands from his pockets, attempted to put them on his hips, changed his mind, stuck them in his pockets again, all the while pretending to be admiring the ceiling.

“How’s school?” he blurted at last.

“Er… well, thank y—”

“Is Malfoy being bullied?”

Her mouth fell open. Of all the things she had expected Harry Potter to ask her, this wouldn't even have made the list. She repeated the words slowly in her head. Is Malfoy being bullied? And why was Harry Potter asking, of all people?

She opted to feign innocence. “Bullied… Bullied? What do you mean?”

He made a frustrated noise. A bit rude, if you asked her.

“What I’m saying is, do people do things to him? Hurt him, or something?”

She imagined what Draco would do to her if she’d confess his darkest secret to his alleged worst enemy. She had a mental image of his pale hands around her throat for some reason.

Best to stay silent on the subject.

“No,” she said, with the confidence of seasoned liar.

She hoped Harry Potter was rubbish at Legillimency. After all, he was Harry Potter. She stole a glance at his hands again. Who knew the things he could do? However, he was  _obviously_  rubbish at concealing his own turmoil, so she might get away with her lies.

“He’s fine,” she went on. “I don’t know where you got that from.”

He finally met her eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, he’s fine.”

“Seriously.”

“Perfectly fine.”

“ _Really_ … Does he  _really_  look ‘fine’ to you?”

She summoned the most recent image she had of Draco in her mind. Just now, in Arithmancy. Bags under the eyes, sagged shoulders, no reaction when Professor Vector gave him detention… He did shudder when Theodore Nott turned to him to gloat, though.

She’d have to do better than that to get Harry Potter out of Draco’s back.

“I mean… You know. He had a rough year.”

Harry Potter scoffed; his eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Yeah…You can say that.”

She attempted a carefree shrug. “He saw things.”

He frowned. “Sure. And he... did things. To other people.”

“And he almost went to prison for the rest of his life.”

“But he didn’t.” Harry Potter grimaced. “He got off pretty easy, all things considered.”

“But his father’s in Azkaban.”

“Yes, he is. Lucius is traitor and a murderer. He deserves to be in Azkaban.”

Astoria blinked. “He misses his—his mother misses him.”

With a mental sigh of relief, she watched his expression softened, a little.

Inspiration struck, and she saw it as sign to go on.

“His wand. His wand is locked. So he can’t perform proper spells.” She nodded fervently, animated by her own lies. “They… they keep backfiring and he’s been covered in bruises. Among other things. It’s a terrible, terrible thing.”

He looked dumbstruck. “His wand did that?”

“Oh yes! It’s been… really awful.”

Harry Potter inched closer. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

She had the brilliant idea to look shocked. “Why would I lie to you?”

He chuckled and passed a hand through his already mad looking hair. “Well, you’re his friend.”

She waved the statement away. “I’m not… really his friend. I’m just the only one who… who doesn’t m—”

“So you’re not friends?” He cocked his head, frowning.

Merlin’s beard. What an annoying Niffler. With that attitude he ought to consider a career as an Auror.

“We are friendly, I guess…” Astoria spoke with hesitation. “On friendly terms, perhaps. Friends, I don’t know, it’s—not a big—you know—thing.”

She graded herself T for Troll for that one last line and pressed her lips together to shut herself up.

But Harry’s demeanor changed. For the first time since he saved her from Blaise Zabini’s undecipherable outburst, he really looked at her, at her face, with slightly narrowed eyes. She held onto his gaze but inside, she shivered.

“Have we… met before?” he asked.

She guessed meeting Harry Potter was a bigger deal for her than meeting her was for him. He was special for a lot of people. She was just… studying here.

“We met, once. In a corridor.”

“We did?”

She gave a half-shrug.

“During the Battle, maybe?" he said. "Were you there?”

“The Umbridge regime, actually. I saw you and your friends outside the… that place where you had your little club.”

“Oh.” The memory seemed to anguish him. “I remember now. I saw your house sigil and I... I thought you’d get us into trouble.”

She held up her hands to stop him talking. “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” She paused and bit the inside of her cheek. “It’s just… We’re not all bad, you know.”

He hung his head. “Yeah, I know.”

“Do you, really?”

He rubbed his eyes and let out a tired groan. “With Umbridge after us, and the Squad, all of them Slytherins, I just never assumed… I never believed for a second any Slytherins would have wanted to fight  _them_  with us. But I should have asked… I should have asked Slytherin students if they wanted to join the D.A.”

She took a second to imagine the scene. “That would have made for an awkward conversation at breakfast.”

Harry Potter snorted loudly. “You’re right.”

“You had enemies at that table. You really did.”

“I did.” He closed his eyes. “And I didn’t, apparently.”

The tone of his voice, tired and knowing, reminded her of her mother’s. She felt the strange, upsetting need of getting closer, and squashed it down.

“I did the same with Snape,” Harry Potter went on, his voice hoarse. “I thought he was… my enemy. I was wrong.” His head snapped up and he looked at her with wide eyes. “You’re related to Raven, the Auror, right? Ginny told me.”

She nodded with a slight frown.

“Oh Merlin, I was so rude to her! I thought she was a spy. I wanted her kicked out of the Order. I accused her of being Snape’s girlfriend once, and tried to have them both kicked out of my godfather’s home. And I’d only met her a handful of times. She must think I’m an awful prat.”

Astoria did her best to ignore the feeling of envy and regret assailing her every time someone talked about her mother. But she found herself looking forward to the end of this conversation.

“She never called you awful, or a prat. At least not to my face…” Not in the two or three times she bothered coming to see her since she returned from Romania. “… And you weren’t the first to call her names. I’m sure she got over it.” Astoria hesitated. “Except maybe the Snape’s girlfriend part. But who knows.”

They exchanged an awkward grin, then allowed silence to settle and stretch between them. Astoria thought of the volumes waiting for her in the library, and suppressed a sigh of yearning.

“I’m sorry, anyway.” Harry finally said. “I keep making the same mistake, it’s like…”

Out of the blue, and despite the thunderstruck look on Astoria’s face, he launched himself into a monologue he punctuated with frequent raking of his hand through his hair.

“I got worried. I worry a lot, lately. I wondered why Malfoy was hanging out with you, when I remembered Raven was so clearly on our side, and I just couldn’t believe he would dare pull another stunt, and use you, or misuse you, you know?” He nodded as she shook her head. “And that means one thing— and that’s just killing me— that means Malfoy has  _changed_ , and— and talk about that, right? People change, they change, all the time, change is scary,  _really_  scary, because people won’t allow others to be their new selves, right? So, I kind of felt I was, trapped, you know, in the same situation, and I couldn’t help feeling these… feelings, of— of sympathy, of course, and—and I, I end up here… on the… on the other side of the—the shore.”

He fell silent. Astoria watched him as he chewed on his bottom lip, staring right through her.

“That’s a lot of… er… sharing,” she said.

“I know,” Harry Potter replied with a vacant look. “I know…” He finally remembered her presence and startled.

“Well,” he said. “Good talk!”

After a curt nod and some kind of salute, he took off, his face the color of crushed tomatoes.

What a hilarious and unhinged person; Astoria enjoyed meeting him. She hoped she would see him again, perhaps get to throw in a personal question here and there… about his experiences, his family, or his friends…

Trying to remember everything he’d mumbled about, but failing to do so, Astoria went on toward the library, but didn’t go far before Draco jumped in front of her, his arms crossed, his face an unhealthy shade of grey.

She stopped. "Oh, hello."

People do say that, don’t they.

Draco’s eyes flashed with anger. “What were you talking about with Potter?”

That was the question she was asking herself as well, if he would just give her a minute…

“My mother, I think… Umbridge? And er… shores?

He squinted at her, his lip quivering.“Don’t. Be. Friends. with Potter.”

Friends with Harry Potter? What an alarming, yet enticing idea.

Friends with Harry Potter.

“Why not?”

“I’m glad you should ask,” he said in a fierce tone. “One”—he waved one finger in front of her face— “he’s my sworn enemy. We’re like, archenemies or something. This is forever. Don’t— Don’t roll your eyes like that. Two.” He added another finger and shook them an inch away from her nose, his face flushed with agitation, anger, or whatever animates a boy of his age. “You’re my friend. My  _only_  friend. What am I supposed to do if you’re off gallivanting with Potter?”

Astoria blinked and slapped his fingers away. “Gallivanting? With Harry Potter?” She frowned, torn between amusement and wonder. “Does Harry Potter  _gallivant_?”

He scrunched up his whole face and looked like a frustrated toddler.

“Just. Don’t. Do it.”

“Relax, I’m not going to.”

He flinched as if she’d slapped him. “Don’t say that word. I hate it.”

“I’m sorry.” She put her hand on his arm and removed it as if burnt.

What was she doing, exactly? Physical expressions were not really her thing. And a physical expression of what?

Affection, the little voice whispered in her head.

Af.fec.tion.

It’s a real thing.

She touched him again, and did more than that. She slipped her arm under his. He watched her do so with a strange mixture of anxiety and relief, but didn’t say a word. Then he set off in fast strides towards the library, pulling her along, his teeth digging into his bottom lip without mercy.

Inwardly, she smiled.

“He’s very curious about you, you know?”

“Who? Potter?” He scoffed, and there was a mad glint in his eyes. “Of course he is.”

He darted quick looks behind them as if he expected to catch Harry Potter lurking behind a statue, ready to jump them.

“He probably thinks I’m up to something. He won’t let go, you know. He never lets go of anything, you should have seen him—” He interrupted himself when he saw her smile. “What? What’s so funny?”

Af.fec.tion. The real thing.

“Nothing. I’m just happy you’re yourself again. There was something different about you today. I’m… I’m just glad you’re better.”

“Right.” He averted his eyes. “Now, are you free? Will you help me with my Potions essay?”

“I thought you were done with that.” She grimaced. “I thought you were  _bright_.”

“Goyle threw it in the fireplace when I refused to call Nott _Master_.” He stopped in the middle of the corridor, his fists clenched. “But don’t you do anything about it.”

“Don’t worry. I’m still recovering from Pansy calling me  _Malfag’s little girlfriend._ ”

What she was not recovering from, if truth be told, was that she was, in fact, proud to be his little girl-friend.

The sight of him, right now, filled her with something akin to lightheartedness.

And the thought of Goyle made her quiver with rage.

She thought of her mother, and what she tried so hard to teach her. But her mother never taught her about caring, and about the implosion of feelings that came with it.

Thankfully she still had Occlumency. And just like that, she regained control of herself, left the feelings in a little box in a corner of her mind, and followed Draco to the library with a detached countenance.


	14. Draco - 6 - Myrtle, White Lies, Parentage and Having Sex

 

 

MYRTLE, WHITE LIES, PARENTAGE AND HAVING SEX.

 

 

Draco pretended not to notice Nott, Pansy and Goyle as they strolled into the library, but his eyes lingered on the back of Nott’s head, and he dug his nails inside the palms of his hands until the pain startled him.

He didn’t expect them to write their essay on Isychia snakes on a Sunday evening. Which is why he’d convinced Astoria to accompany him to the library to help him finish his own. She was buried deep into a large volume named _Rare Magical Reptiles Of Western Europe_ and hadn't noticed his attention was elsewhere.

Draco never came back to the boys’ bathrooms after the _incident_. It took days before he could find a adequate solution and take a much needed shower.

He first sought refuge in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom to relieve himself. But there were no showers there, and worst of all, Myrtle lurked in the U-bend, and Draco suspected her of having not-so-innocent ideas about him.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk, when she snuck up on him in the stall and scared the living shit out of him.

Jumping to his feet, Draco cursed out-loud and scrambled into his trousers.

“Hi Myrtle.” He slid out the stall, avoiding eye contact, and hurried to wash his hands.

She leaned against the basin next to him, not taking her eyes off him. “Why are you here?”

“I try to avoid the boy’s lavatories as much as I can.”

Her eyes widened, betraying her curiosity. “Why?”

Draco hesitated. “There are trolls in there.”

“Trolls? In the toilet? I haven’t seen one in years.”

“Forget it.”

He recalled a time when Myrtle was his only confidante. Those days were over. The boy she befriended was dead. Gone forever. Draco had Astoria now. But it wasn't a reason to be rude. He threaded a hand through his untidy hair and cast her a weak smile.

“How about you, Myrtle. How have you been?”

Too happy to oblige, she went on and on about her excruciatingly boring existence as a toilet ghost who spies on people’s arses without any logical repercussion. Draco listened with one ear, annoyed. He intended to use the basins in here to do his washing up, but he didn’t like the idea of being naked when she might be skulking.

“—But now that you’re here, of course we can share,” she concluded with an almost predatory smile. “I never mind sharing my toilet with a handsome boy.”

Draco's lip twitched in disgust. “T—that’s very generous of you.” He splashed some water over his face. 

“Oh, speaking of… Harry Potter was in here looking for you.”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. He jerked his head toward her, sending droplets of water everywhere.“Harry-Potter-what??”

She noticed his agitation and let out a high-pitched giggle. “He rushed in here, all disheveled, very inappropriate, in my opinion…” She sighed longingly at the memory. “He came only for one thing, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“To kill you, of course, like that one time!”

Draco made a frustrated noise. “I don’t think he wants to kill me, Myrtle. He had plenty of occasions for that and he never—”

“But there was so much blood!”

Draco slammed his hands on each side of the basin. “Never mind that!” He stared at his own reflection in the mirror with a look of pure self-loathing. “If only he’d done it, it would have save us all a lot of trouble!”

Pretending to be frightened by his outburst, Myrtle took a moment to approach him again, her hand outreached. “You sound so depressed, Draco.” She was trying hard not to smile. “You should come here more often.”

Draco gave one last look at his unkempt reflection, picked up his bag and headed for the exit.

“Thanks, Myrtle. But this isn’t exactly what I was looking for.”

Another two days passed before he could enjoy the pleasurable sensation of hot water on his bone-tired body. Astoria, who always sat next to him during lessons, had been glancing at him more often than was needed, and he started to worry about his own smell. At least Potter didn’t show any sign of noticing him, which could only mean Myrtle was delusional, as always. But Draco couldn’t spend another evening looking for a place to hide. He had detention with Professor Vector that night.

The professor had no clue as to what he should do during that time, since she was not in the habit of punishing students. So she’d asked around and Madam Hooch said she needed someone to clean up and reorganise the Quidditch’s equipment closets.

He was authorised to use magic at least. It still took some time because of his lousy wand, but Draco didn’t mind. He enjoyed being alone in a place that had meant a lot to him. Quidditch always brought up the best of memories. The wind rushing through his hair. The adrenaline of the chase. The sounds his house mates made when his team scored. The adoration that ensued in the common room…

Then he remembered what people used to say: he only made the team because of his father’s donations. Without it, he would have never been their seeker. Now he couldn’t even recall if he was any good. Potter always beat him anyway.

But at least at this time, he was just a pretentious, prejudiced idiot. He wasn’t yet a criminal. There was no blood on his hands. He hadn’t seen what toxic beliefs like his father's could really do. As he checked one more time if the closets were in a pristine state, it finally occurred to him.

The Quidditch changing rooms had their own showers for players. With their semi-stalls that gave the illusion of privacy. He had been so anxious the first time he used them, terrified that the older players would pick on him. But nobody cared. They were all in this together, and no one was peeping.

Draco stole a glance or two in his later years, to reassure himself he was like other blokes. Nothing bad, nothing his friends had anything to worry about. Not at all the kind of… ‘prank’ Nott played on him that day. Nothing like that.

Draco had been using the Quidditch showers ever since.

So far so good, neither Nott nor the others had found him in his new hiding place. Draco woke up too early to meet any of them, and went to bed too late to risk another beating.

Overall, it had been a pretty decent couple of days, if you dismissed the constant threats of detention he received from falling asleep during lessons.

But the memory of Nott’s breath on his neck, his knee pushing between his legs, the amusement in his voice as Draco begged, lingered in his mind like some slow-acting poison. Every time he saw Nott, he felt a stab of fear and humiliation. Every time his vision clouded with dreams of vengeance. And every time he shuddered to think of what would happen if he ever found himself alone with him again.

Astoria slammed her volume of _Rare Magical Reptiles Of Western Europe_ shut and startled Draco out of his thoughts. She followed his gaze, and frowned at Nott whose hand lingered on Pansy’s back as she perused the shelves with a self-satisfied smirk.

“These two look cosy enough together," she said.

True. Whatever Nott said he did to Draco —and Draco suspected he didn’t tell the whole truth— had the positive effect to persuade Pansy he was the man for her. Nott’s hand traveled further down from Pansy’s back, and she giggled.

“And they say romance is dead.” Draco said. “Still… Poor Pansy.”

Astoria stopped scribbling halfway through a sentence. “Why? Why would you say that?” Her eyelid twitched when she noticed a droplet of ink had blotched her meticulous cursive.

“No reason,” he said. “Forget it.”

Nott glanced around his shoulder at Draco and… winked. Draco’s throat squeezed shut.

“He is rather unpleasant,” Astoria said.

“You don’t say…” Draco replied.

“More than ever, actually.”

He acquiesced with a nod. “Mother always said _‘adolescence makes beasts of us all’_.”

“Some more than others.”

Astoria spoke in a detached voice, but Draco suspected there was something more to it. Did she know about what happened? No way. She wasn’t the only one who could clear her mind. He wouldn’t let her see this episode, even if she’d try to peer in. But what if she suspected, because Nott had acted like a creep before… with her?

The idea that he might corner her in a dark corridor filled Draco with nausea.

“Just… stay away from him, please,” he said. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

She met his eyes, and frowned. “If I say yes, if I promise, will you tell me why?

Draco hesitated. “I... I really have to finish this essay.”

“Of course.” She looked away. “Of course. Studying is the most important thing, at our age.”

Really? Draco felt he had about _everything else_ in his mind but his N.E.W.T.S. But he didn’t say anything, to let the subject of Nott sink into oblivion.

Astoria touched him the other day. An unexpected gesture that betrayed their growing intimacy. He pretended not to care and he let it go. But she was growing fond of him. They had walked arm and arm together. He remembered thinking how his mother would be pleased, only…

Draco wasn’t exactly in love with Astoria. He was hoping it would happen, eventually. What he felt for her, this friendship, wasn’t enough to get married, or at least, probably not for her. And they were still so young, technically. What was he thinking when he agreed to this, anyway…

It was all for his family. _Save the reputation, save the family… Save yourself. Put on a show of not being a Death Eater anymore. Be a good boy so people forget about your crimes… and those of your father. Find a nice girl whose views are better than ours._

Why did the fate of his wretched family had to fall on Astoria’s shoulders? The day he apparated on her front steps, the day she opened the door, he already knew he didn’t want to use her, didn’t want to lie to her, and he did anyway. He got sidelined by the idea of that one friend, and then…

Perhaps he should just come clean, tell her the truth, tell her why he needed to befriend her in the first place. He felt like he had so many secrets. But of course he couldn’t tell her. If she knew how bad he really was, and what he had done, if she knew he could have saved Potter and did nothing, if she knew…

But she wouldn’t know. He just had to clear his head, stay strong. They wouldn’t talk about the bad stuff anymore, especially not the business with Nott. It threatened to wrench him open, and then he would confess to everything. To things he hadn’t even confessed to himself. Things hidden safely in small, cramped compartments in a corner of his mind, away from people’s prying.

His times with her were happy times, his only happy times, when he got to pretend everything was fine and talk about other things, happy things. Speaking off, he felt like there was something he was supposed to tell her…

“Oh, shit!” He raised his hand to his mouth. “I forgot to warn you about Zabini!”

“Shhhhh!” Madam Pince hissed, somewhere in the library.

Astoria shrugged. “Oh, he came to me. He wanted us to, I quote, ‘snog’.”

She looked so puzzled at the thought, he felt a rush of fondness and grabbed her hand.

“Merlin’s pants! What did you do?”

She stared at his hand over hers.“I said yes, of course.”

“Seriously?” With a sickened grimace he removed his hand as though she’d just announced she was pregnant with Blaise’s child. 

“Draco Malfoy, you’re so daft.” His stomach did a thing when she spoke his name. “I didn’t have to say anything. Harry Potter showed up, and sent him on his way. Zabini has left me alone since, though he’s been glaring a lot. I think I’ll have to talk to him…”

But Draco’s mood had darkened instantly. “Potter showed up…”

Astoria noticed his tension and turned back to her essay. “Come on, Professor Belmore wants us to know everything about these snakes.”

“You never told me,” Draco said, with a note of bitterness. “Why did Potter want to speak to you in the first place? To talk about Umbridge? Or your _mother_ , really?”

Her pupils flickered. She’d just blanked her mind. She was as slippery as an eel.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Draco’s anger flared up, sparked by anxiety. “Did this _runt_ ask you out?”

“No!” The shock made her jump out of her chair. “He doesn’t even know who I am! He...” Her mouth opened and closed as if she wanted to add something.

He didn't give her the time to retreat. “Why did he want to talk to you, if he doesn’t know who you are?”

Astoria screwed her eyes shut as though tormented by two different trains of thoughts. Eventually, she put her quill down and faced him.

“Fine,” she said with an air of resignation. “He wanted to talk about you.”

Draco’s heart bounced up in his throat. “Me? Why?”

First Myrtle, now Astoria... With impossible speed, he tried to recall anything he’d done or said that would earn him Potter’s attention. Nothing. There was nothing.

Astoria did an almost good job at appearing casual.“He… he thought you were in trouble. He thought some people might hurt you.”

Draco scoffed bitterly. Harry Potter was worried about his safety. How ridiculous was that.

“And you believed him?”

“Yes, I did.” She shrugged. “Because he’s right. You _are_ being bullied. But don't worry. I told him nothing.”

Draco sighed in relief. “Thank you. But you're wrong, anyway. He’s spying on me, as he’s always done. He thinks I’m up to something. He’s going to report me, or worse. He’s probably looking for proof.”

Astoria didn’t seem convinced.“I think he’s really worried about you.”

“Yes, because _that_ makes sense.” He let out a dry laugh. “He’s been so worried about me over the years. That’s what he’s famous for. Please, never speak to him again.” Draco turned away from Astoria to hide his turmoil. 

Whatever the truth was, Draco hated it.

Potter could have tired of his gingerbread girlfriend and might have noticed Astoria’s beauty, even with her nasty habit of pulling her hair up too tight, which gave her an air of strictness not unlike McGonagall. Potter could easily stir her away from Draco under the pretense he was a nasty Death Eather. It was true anyway. He was a nasty Death Eater. Branded for life. Why would Astoria pick Draco over Saint Potter? No chance.

Or it could be that Potter suspected him to have some secret underground plan to bring the Dark Lord back. He could easily report him to the Headmistress or the W.A.N.D.S. Next step, the snapping of his wand, and the shipping of his pale ass to Azkaban. He could then spend the rest of his days between bitter family reunions with his old man and getting cornered in the showers by Nott’s possibly equally deranged father.

Finally, it could be that Potter, Precious Potter, really believed Draco was a poor victim of some sort of crime and had decided to come to his rescue. Why? To show him he was too weak to take care of himself, that he needed Potter to save him, so he could rub it in his face.

All of these answers filled him with rage.

If only he could find himself alone with Potter, with a proper wand. He would show him. Show him he could take care of himself. The idea of duelling with Potter lit a roaring fire in the pit of his stomach and brought a smile to his face.

If only.

Draco shook away a pleasant image of Potter pinned down under him, and turned to Astoria.

“Enough about snakes. Let’s play a game.”

Astoria glanced at him sideways. “No. We have to finish this. Your words.”

He reached out and snatched her essay. “Isychia snakes don’t exist. No one has ever seen one. It’s all a lie. See? Done.”

She squinted at him with an air of suspicion, but put her quill down anyway, bringing a smile on Draco’s lips.

“What kind of game are you talking about anyway?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “What games do you like?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Ok, fine. What games do you know?”

“Huh...” She was at lost for words.

“You don’t know any games? You’ve never played games with your mother?”

What wizardry was this?

She blanched. “I wasn’t really raised by my mother.” She hesitated. “I... I had a nanny.”

He shrugged. “Of course. I had a nanny too. What kind of games did you play with her?”

She stared at him as though he came for another planet. “What… kind of life have you been living?”

Rich, coming from her. She was the one who didn’t know games but he somehow ended up being the weird one.

He threw her a contemptuous look. “What kind of life have _you_ been living?”

He half-regretted the snobbish tone he used, but she glared at him with such arrogance, he felt his anger bubble up.

“Not yours, obviously”, she said, in a scathing voice. “My mother’s an Auror. She risks her life fighting dark wizards to protect this world. She hired a nanny to teach me everything that was required for my survival and my education. She didn’t pamper me in draughty halls.”

Draco, hurt by the truth in her words, let his anger get the best of him. “Draughty halls? Draughty halls!” He sneered as if he were talking to Potter. "Your family too owned draughty halls, in case you didn’t know. You’d still live there if your mother hadn’t torched the place with her parents in it!”

He could see he went too far, in the way her eyes widened, her cheeks paled, her chin trembled. He could see how much she wanted to hurt him at this exact moment. He heard the warning in her voice when she said:

“Don’t talk about my mother.”

“Don’t talk about my draughty halls, then!”

She looked away. “Fine.”

“Fine!”

There was a silence.

Draco gazed at the window and felt a furious desire to wrench it open and jump.

“Damn it, Astoria.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry about that.” He drummed his quill on his essay to avoid looking at her.

She stared in the distance, her head held high. “Well... I’m sorry too.”

Their eyes met. Astoria cheeks took on a pink tone. He realized he was flushed too. Ashamed at his own behaviour.

“But still…” he said softly. “I mean no offense, but… it’s a strange career to pick when you have a child.”

“It’s the perfect career when you don’t want to spend time with your child.” She tapped her quill on the unfinished essay with a look that said “get back to work”.

Draco tried to focus back on his essay. He felt odious, and soiled. His awful, entitled temper always ruined everything. He would rather make her laugh than hurt her feelings. Did she even know? The look on her face… She might not even have known… He had to find a way to make her laugh. To put this argument behind once and for all. What could he possible say to make her laugh…

“Astoria…”

“Draco.”

“Who’s your father?”

“Oh, Merlin.” She slammed her forehead on the table.

The sound made several students turn their heads or look around at them.

Madam Pince heard it as well. “Shhhhhhh!” 

Draco took Astoria's reaction as a good sign.“Was he a Death Eater? Is that’s why you’re embarrassed to tell me?”

“Will you ever drop it?” she said. She wasn’t smiling. Yet.

“No. So?”

“Why would I be embarrassed to tell you if my father was a Death Eater? Yours was one, a real one. He even let You-Know-Who stay in his home, and you don’t mind making jokes about it.”

She wasn’t amused at all. He had fucked things up again. But when she saw the dismay on his face, she softened. And went on staring at his face for a long time.

“What?” He asked, worried. “What is it?”

“How was it?” she spoke in a whisper. “Living with _him_?”

With an exaggerated grin, Draco pretended to stretch to conceal the sudden nervous tremor in his body.

“Oh, you know… He was…”

What little children imagine lurks in the deepest, darkest corner under their bed.

“There was nothing left human in him,” Draco said, staring at his essay without making sense of the words. “Just a… shell. He was no longer concerned by what drives us, you know, normal people.”

Astoria cocked her head. “Like…food?”

“No. Emotions, mainly.” He chuckled despite himself. “He ate, and a lot too. He emptied our pantry, and my personal trust fund. And he had my mum prepare and serve him my father’s peacocks once. Bastard. ”

Astoria gasped, but her eyes were glinting. “Did you just call him a bastard?”

“I guess I did…” And it was like a heavy burden had jus lifted off his shoulders.

The Dark Lord’s appetite and greed just reminded him he was human after all. He had been human all along. And now he was no more. There was comfort in those thoughts. As frightening as he may have been, lording over everyone in Draco’s drawing room, he had been a kid once, went to Hogwarts, brushed his teeth, used a toilet, and—

Draco gasped, hit with a sudden realization. “Do you think, sometimes, about, you know…”

“What?”

“You-Know-Who… having sex.”

Astoria’s face drained of all color. “Not with my mother, surely!”

“What? No! What the hell!”

“Shhhhhhhh!!!” Madam Pince spluttered, and went into a fit of coughing.

Astoria glared. “You were asking me, again, who my father was.”

“Oh, yes. That’s right.” Draco hesitated. “But, no. That would be weird. I mean, not weird that your mother would have sex with You-Know-Who, though it would be, but weird that you think about your mother… doing the deed. However I’ve got a feeling he might have fooled around with my crazy aunt, because once she said—”

“Or not that I know of at least…” Astoria interrupted him, a worried look on her face. “I don’t think she ever met him.” Now it was her turn to look dejected. “She does have a strong propensity for heavy secrets.”

Draco snorted. “So basically the Dark Lord could be your father.”

“You-Know-Who is not my father!” Her face scrunched up. “Will you let go, please!”

Her reaction somewhat amused Draco because it made his absurd theory all the more plausible. But of course he’d let go. If the Dark Lord was his father, he wouldn’t shout it from the rooftops either.

He wondered how many times he bragged about being Lucius’s son, as if it were a badge of honor, and decided Astoria was smart not to define herself by who had sex with her mother.

Sex.

He was thinking a lot about it, lately.

Potter surely had sex with the Weasley girl in every room of the castle, possibly with her freak brother watching. Perhaps he should be having sex too, like every normal man. The thought made him uneasy.

Another thing made him uneasy. Nott cornering him in the shower, calling him his bitch and sticking his wand where it doesn’t belong.

So many uneasy things going through his mind lately.

No. He pushed the thoughts away and observed Astoria. She was beautiful. Even picky Blaise would like to… find himself alone with her. And he probably wasn’t the only one. In fact even Potter might…

And so Draco thought he might… one day…He might ask her. Get it over with. Would she say yes?

“Hey. Do you think I’m handsome?” He asked with a grimace.

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, with your face all twisted like this. How could I resist?”

“Seriously!”

“The fact that you’re asking me that right after inquiring after who had sex with my mother worries me.”

“So, no, basically.”

“I don’t want to talk about these things.” For the first time ever, she looked embarrassed. “I want you to finish your bloody essay so I can go to bed and pretend we’ve never had this conversation.”

Draco sighed. Pansy used to think he was so handsome. She talked about it all the time. She would ask if she could stroke his hair. And he let her, because it looked good to have a girl fawning over him. Also, it reminded him of when his mother used to do it for him as a child.

But now, Pansy thought he was disgusting. Fine. He’d lost some weight, and there were dark circles under his eyes. But it wasn’t like he’d changed that much. So she must have been lying the whole time.

When he looked up he found Astoria staring at him. She quickly looked down at her essay.

“You are beautiful,” he said in a sour tone, resting his chin in his hand. “I envy you.”

She hesitated. “I’ve got good genes.” A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Draco slammed his hand on the table; black ink flew from its uncorked bottle. “See! You’re fucking with me!” He flicked his wand to clean the mess but only made it worse. “Tell me, tell me who your father is!”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

Madam Pince ran out of air and Astoria burst out laughing. Bewildered but also ecstatic, Draco joined in. He felt warm inside, proud of himself for making her laugh.

Then Potter, Granger, and the Weasleys, tailed by fifth wheel Longbottom, entered the library. Probably to write their Isychia essay at the last minute. Disgusting. Disgusting Potter.

Draco stared after Potter. He was laughing too, in a carefree, I-saved-the-world-what-did-you-do-with-your-life-lately way. He flung his arm around Weasley’s shoulders to say something in his ear. His tanned wrist stuck out of his sleeve, his hand inadvertently brushed against the hair on Weasley’s neck. Weasley threw his head back, roared with laughter. Draco chocked on a piece of Edible Quill he hadn’t noticed he’d been chewing.

Potter looked over his shoulder and stopped laughing when he saw Draco watching him. Something lurched in Draco’s stomach. He spit a bit of Edible Quill. When he turned back to Astoria she wasn’t laughing anymore.

She tapped the essay with her quill again. Her tone was brisk when she said:

“Finish this. Now. Please. So we can all go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Time, so I'm not expecting anyone to read any of this, but since I'm really sick at home, I'll continue posting regularly this week.
> 
> Merry Holidays to you all.  
> x


	15. Draco - 7 - Astoria's Answer

 

 

ASTORIA'S ANSWER:

 

 

Draco was sitting on his bed and counting the days until the Christmas holidays. Only a week separated him from the start of December; then in no time, the holidays would be upon him.

Soon, the W.A.N.D.S. would meet and decide whether or not to remove the lock on his wand. Then, Draco would be free to go home to his mother. It would be a sober Christmas. No extended family. Just Mother and he, enjoying a bitter tasting Christmas pudding. And then there was the dreaded visit to Azkaban to see Father.

Draco allowed his thoughts to wander for too long that morning, and didn’t realize he was getting late for Charms. Thankfully Nott, Goyle and Zabini reminded him gently when they caught him outside their dormitory. On one side, Goyle extended his large arm to bar his passage. Nott leaned on the other side of the door, chewing on the tip of his thumb. Blaise, a few feet away, was shooting glances at his watch.

“We’ll be late for Charms,” Draco said, angry at himself for letting him be cornered like this.

“It’s fine,” Nott said.

“I’d rather not be late,” Zabini said, looking bored.

“Tell me where you go,” Nott spoke in his unctuous voice. “Where do you hide now, that we can’t find you?”

Draco held his gaze. It would require a lot more than threats to have him confess to his sanctuary. And he could take it.

Nott glanced at the ceiling, as though thinking of a solution to a challenging problem. Then he sighed.

“If you don’t tell me, we’ll have to ask your girlfriend.”

Draco gave Nott a look of pure hatred. He balled his hands into fists without even noticing. Theodore didn’t miss it and threw his head back, laughing.

“She’s not his girlfriend,” Blaise said in the back.

“Oh no!” Nott gave Zabini a look of mock concern. “I feel you’ve been lied to, Blaise. Those two are… conjoined.”

Blaise threw Draco a scathing look and folded his arms across his chest.

“So, you’re together, then?”

Draco felt the beginning of a headache grow behind his eyes. Since the shower incident, he had enjoyed some relative peace from his former mates, so much that he had begun to relax around people and could even enjoy the taste of food once again. He had no intention of falling back into the old routine. He thought Nott had perhaps realized he’d gone too far, but that was wishful thinking. Here he was, racking his brain to find a way to get out of this situation without shedding a drop of blood, or worse.

He could try to lie his way out of here, but it was obvious now that he spent all of his time with Astoria, whether they spent their time studying, snogging in every corner of the castle, or worshipping Merlin’s saggy left.

Still, he shook his head miserably.“We’re not…”

Nott clapped his hands and Draco startled. “Could have fooled me!” He drew closer, his mouth curved into a cruel smile. “Now, tell me… Where do you do your… business? In Hagrid’s hut?”

Blaise snorted into his fist and Nott’s smile grew larger.

“With his little girlfriend,” Goyle said, and guffawed.

“Is that true?” Nott gasped, feigning astonishment. “Do you shower with the girls now?”

“Or he doesn’t shower at all!” Goyle laughed.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Draco and Blaise said together.

Surprised, Draco looked up at Blaise, hoping to find support, but Blaise merely looked away, his chin held high.

Nott, somewhat thrown by the lack of support from his friend, turned to him with a frown. Draco saw his chance. Ducking under Goyle’s arm, he made a run for it.

He didn’t stop to check whether they were chasing him or not, he ran as if his life depended on it, for once thankful of his long limbs that allowed him to run fast enough.

Panting, he soon reached the Grand Staircase, but in his haste to climb the stairs two by two, he tripped on his cloak and landed face first on the middle of the staircase, earning himself jeers from groups of students on their way to their classes.

Draco staggered back to his feet. The dull sensation in his face quickly turned into sharp stabs of pain, and he tasted blood. He stood there an instant, stunned from his fall and the stupidity of his situation, and let out a mad, mirthless laugh that frightened a group of first years on their way to class.

To have managed to avoid a beating from these idiots only to do the job himself… He himself could see the humour in it. The terrified first years let him pass, too afraid to look in his direction. Draco made the rest of the way with his head held up, very aware that his bottom lip was swelling rapidly.

Draco found Astoria waiting outside the Charms classroom. A weight pressed on his chest. She started off the year the way she always had. Lied about her grades, kept her head down… with great success. She’d never wanted anyone’s attention. Now weeks into their friendship, the worst of what Slytherin had to offer knew had taken good notice of her and had threatened several times to do her harm. It was he who cursed her, with this hopeless friendship. Pansy meant her no good at all. But worse than that, Nott agreed with her. Soon, their mockeries would turn to real threats.

Strike one.

Draco felt he had to let her go, or he would be responsible, once again, for a tragedy, only because he was too selfish to reconsider his path.

Astoria had her studious face on, but she looked small and frail in the crowd. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

“What happened to you?”

He took her to the side. “Don’t ask any questions and I’ll be your friend forever.”

Astoria eyed the crowd of students pouring in from every direction, chatting and laughing, their cheeks flushed. Some of them were laughing at Draco, imitated him tripping and falling over. He did his best to ignore them and chewed on his bleeding lip. Astoria gave a quick flick of her wand and Draco sighed in relief when his face healed.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She was frowning. “So, today—”

“About today,” Draco darted a quick look around, scanning for Nott’s creepy smile and Goyle’s gorilla arms. “I’d rather seat alone.”

“Why?”

“I want to seat alone, that’s all.”

He made the mistake of meeting her eyes, and immediately felt her influence.

“Back off!” he cried.

A trio of Gryffindors glowered at him. He took a shaky breath and hoped Astoria didn’t catch a glimpse of what had just happened, or the business with Nott. He waved his hand in front of her scrunched up face.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

She stepped back. “Why? You’re hiding things from me.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “And?!? Friends don’t do that to each other. What the hell is wrong with you?”

She pressed her lips together. “Friends seat together like they promise, and don’t break their promises.”

Silly girl. She had no clue how close she was to become next Nott’s shit list.

He scoffed. “I’ve never promised you anything.”

She skewered him with an affronted look. “You did, that one time…”

Clicking his tongue in frustration, Draco scanned the mass of waiting students once more, and caught sight of Potter staring at them from the edge the crowd. With a sudden rush of panic, he turned his back to him. Nott, Goyle and Blaise arrived at that moment, laughing loudly, without a care in the world. Pansy immediately leeched herself to Nott, but Draco saw with relief that neither he nor Goyle was paying them any attention.

However Draco noticed Blaise stealing glances at Astoria, who was still ranting about that time he promised her to seat with her. With horror, Draco watched him approach them. Blaise straightened his tie and leaned forward to make himself heard only by Astoria, but Draco could hear everything.

“You’ve made a mistake, you know,” he said in a whisper.

Astoria, too busy glaring at Draco, took a considerable time to notice his presence. “Pardon me?”

Blaise rolled his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. “I said you’ve made a mistake. Choosing _this”_ — he gestured loosely at Draco— “over me.”

“No no,” Draco whispered quickly, eager to make peace with Blaise so that he could stand in the way of Nott, at least regarding Astoria. “She didn’t choose me at all.”

Blaise ignored him. Draco held his breath. Astoria stared at Blaise for a long time, then something flickered in her eyes.

“I’d forgotten all about that.” She sounded friendly enough. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t seem very fair. You can have your answer now.”

Blaise appeared taken aback. He raised a hand to tug at his collar. “Oh, so you’ve thought about it after all.” He shot a quick glance at Draco who pretended to look elsewhere, and saw Potter was still staring in their direction. “So?”

Draco spread his arms and shielded them all from Potter’s insufferable curiosity.

“I’ve thought about it,” Astoria said with a slight frown, and Draco realised with astonishment that she probably telling the truth. “It has occurred to me that, following your own reasoning, I have come to terms with the fact that we are not a good match to… ‘snog’ and ‘be seen together’.”

Blaise looked as though he’d been confounded. “What?”

Astoria cleared her throat. “Well," you said, I quote: ‘you’re attractive, I’m attractive, that makes sense’, if I recall correctly.”

Draco’s mouth fell open. For the first time ever, Blaise Zabini appeared uncomfortable in his own skin. It was hard not to stare.

“But I thought about it,” Astoria continued, very serious, “and I’ve reached the conclusion that I’m way more attractive than you.”

Draco slapped a hand to his forehead. Blaise’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

Astoria went on, unfazed. “So based on your own very debatable way of finding mating partners, we are not a good match.” She reached inside her schoolbag. “I also added my own reasoning on the subject. For instance, a very simple research of your family tree” — she produced a roll of parchment and Blaise’s eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets— “your mother’s mating partners over the years have shared a concerning and equally grisly fate, including your own father, which would make me seriously consider my own wellbeing as your snogging partner, and lastly” — she stuck the roll of parchment in her robe— “the look on your face right now is a clear indication that you do not possess the mental capacities that would enable me to enjoy spending any time with you. So, huh, no,” she said, with a nod and polite smile, “But, thank you for your interest.”

To his merit, Blaise did not react as crudely as Pansy or Nott would have done. His outrage was only betrayed by the smallest quiver in his bottom lip. With an air of upmost disdain, he straightened up and withdrew without making a scene. Dizzy with anguish, Draco hid his face in his hands. Whatever happened from now on, Astoria could not count on Blaise’s support, or his mercy at all.

Strike two.

That meant Draco would have to step up to do something. Do something to protect her. It seemed a ludicrous idea. He couldn’t even protect himself. His breath quickened and he found himself feverish.

Before Draco could beg Astoria to stop angering his enemies, Flitwick invited them to come in at last, and everybody shuffled in and scrambled for their favourite seats. Draco hovered at the back of the class, unsure.

Astoria gripped his sleeve and pulled him forward with surprising strength. “Get over yourself, Malfoy!”

Draco lost all resistance at the call of his name and involuntarily glanced toward Potter, who was still watching them through narrowed eyes as he sat by his girlfriend.

Draco took his seat, slightly bewildered. Astoria gazed ahead at the teacher as if nothing had happened.

“Today, we’ll revise how to turn vinegar into wine,” Flitwick announced. “As it will likely be demanded of you during your examination.”

Draco heard Granger cheer from her table on his right and grimaced.

“What is it?” Astoria whispered.

Draco held his head in his hands. “I’m having the worst fucking day.”

“Oh,” Astoria said. “I’m having quite a good day, actually. Let me know if I can help.”

She put her hand on his arm and Draco jumped out of his stool.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Nothing, just…” He glanced at Nott and Pansy two tables ahead of him. They didn't see anything. He sighed in relief. “Don’t… touch me anymore.”

Astoria’s face showed no expression at all. She accepted two cups of vinegar from Flitwick with a polite nod, and leaned into Draco as she handed him one of the cups.

“Are you upset because I refused Blaise? Was I suppose to say yes? Was it part of your plan?”

Draco looked at her in panic. “Plan? What plan? I don’t have any plans.” He knew how unconvincing he sounded and his heart sank.

Astoria straightened on her seat with an amused smile on her face.

“You shouldn’t worry so much. Everything’s fine.”

Nothing was fine. Nothing at all. But of course he couldn’t tell her that. She only acted so stupidly because he’d never been honest about what was happening to him. If he wanted to protect her, he would have to tell the truth.

Could she take the truth? Draco threw her looks from the corner of his eyes. The way she talked to Blaise. Draco wouldn’t have stood for it before. When he met her she was like a blank canvas. Now she was starting to show her face. She had a playful, reckless streak that he didn’t imagine she had in her. It was elating and worrisome. She was safer when she was no one.

 


	16. Draco - 8 - The Girl Who Held Goyle's Hand

 

 

THE GIRL WHO HELD GOYLE'S HAND

 

 

 

Minutes later, Granger was, of course, the only one who had succeeded in transforming her vinegar into wine. After a few attempts that resulted with his first and second cup exploding in the air and alarmed students from both his house and Potter’s threatening him with all sorts of hexes, Draco was sulking, his face buried in his sleeve. Next to him, Astoria was tapping her cup and watching the liquid bubbling up inside without enthusiasm.

“I know I’ll be fine with Flitwick today,” he said in a morose tone, “because I got an E at my last essay—”

“Thanks to me,” Astoria said with a side glance.

“Yes, thanks to you, your Highness. But still…”

“Still what?” She abandoned her cup.

Draco groaned into his sleeve. “I could use a glass of wine. Or a hundred.”

“What, to drink?”

“No, to read my future. What do you think?”

Astoria barely refrained herself from snorting and Draco felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Watch this,” she whispered.

She tapped Draco’s new cup of vinegar and murmured the incantation. The vinegar turned into wine.

Draco gasped. His reaction clearly pleased her, though she was trying hard not to show it. He made a show of dipping his lips into the wine.

“Merlin…” It tasted dry and rich. “It’s bloody delicious.”

“Of course it is,” she said, offended.

“Mr Malfoy!”

Draco and Astoria’s heads snapped up. Flitwick was perched on his desk with his hands on his hips.

“You should learn for yourself,” he said in what he probably considered a severe tone, “and not rely on Miss Winterburns here.” His tone softened when he addressed her: “Your mother too was excellent in this subject, Miss Astoria. Most excellent. I’m so happy to see you’re improving so much!”

Granger craned her neck to stare at Astoria with a curious frown. Astoria swallowed as she always did when she received a compliment; she looked as though she was utterly and totally under duress.

Flitwick sighed and pointed at Draco: “Mr Malfoy, you should change partners.”

There was a slight commotion in the classroom as everybody exchanged worried or affronted whispers. People usually sat in pairs in that class and no one wanted to lose their partners in favour of Draco.

“Hum…” Wishing he could drown in his cup of wine, Draco averted Flitwick’s eyes. “I don’t see anyone who’d like to seat with me.”

He heard the scrap of a chair a little further down on the right and the angry voice of the Weasley girl.

“…even think about it!”

There was another scraping sound then silence.

Flitwick raised his hands in surrender. “Very well, Mr Malfoy, if Miss Winterburns allows you to stay, then you can stay.”

Astoria performed some sort of half-shrug that gave nothing away but two tables ahead, Goyle whistled and Pansy sniggered. Draco threw his head back to escape them, only to find Potter staring at him again.

Draco’s pulse quickened; he looked away. He could really do without Paranoid Potter watching his every move. What did he expect? That Draco was hiding the Dark Lord under his robes? What an alarming thought.

The lesson went on quite uneventfully for a while. Draco waited for Flitwick to turn around to drink more wine. Astoria cast him glances here and there.

“It will get better, you know,” she said.

Chin resting on his fist, Draco watched her play with her wine from a corner of his eye. His brief fit of good mood had dampened. He couldn’t wait for the day to be over, and it wasn’t even lunch yet.

“How do you know?”

“At the end of the year it will be over anyway.”

Since this morning, the end of the year could has well be in fifty years time. He had clearly underestimated his propensity for getting in trouble. Fatigue and annoyance bubbled up inside him, waking up his inner condescending prat.

“I don’t even need those sodding N.E.W.T.s. I don’t need any of this shit. I’m an aristocrat, I can do as I please.”

Astoria flicked her wrist and the wine in her cup heated up to a boil. “That might be the source of your problems. The whole”—she made a whiny voice— “’I’m an aristocrat, look at me!’ attitude.

Draco scoffed softly, mellowed by her somewhat faithful impression. “You’re an aristocrat, unless you forgot it.”

“I wasn’t raised like one”—she shot him a dirty look— “obviously.”

At this, Draco perked up enough to sit up straighter in his chair. “Why weren’t you raised like one? Because of your Muggle father?”

She groaned, but he saw she was struggling not to smile. “What’s your obsession with Muggles? What’s it to you, if my father is Muggle anyway?” She saw his grin and stuck out her tongue. “Stop poking around with this.”

She charmed her boiling wine back into a normal, deep red wine.

“I’m sorry.” Draco let out a loud sigh. “Poking’s like a second nature to me.”

She frowned. “There had to be a better choice of words.”

Draco laughed as quietly as he could, while she pretended not to have a good time. He felt eyes on them and caught Pansy and Nott throwing looks over their shoulders and talking quickly to each other. Draco’s joy died on the spot.

Near the end of the lesson, Flickwick excused himself and withdrew to his office in the back to retrieve an item for the next lesson. Immediately Pansy swiveled in her chair.

“Psst, Malfag’s little girlfriend,” she called.

A few heads turned to look at them, some surprised, some amused. Astoria didn’t move.

“Psst!”

“Don’t say anything to her,” Draco warned.

He cast a worried look over his shoulder. Potter was pretending poorly not to stare at the scene. Draco glared at him. Potter’s face turned scarlet and he almost knocked over his cup of vinegar to reach for his book.

“Psst! Pstt!”

Pansy was still trying to get Astoria’s attention, but only managed to get everyone else’s instead. Encouraged by Pansy’s boldness, students began to chat earnestly.

“Are you done?” a glowering Granger asked over the growing agitation.

Pansy ignored her. “Psst!”

“I’m not afraid of her,” Astoria said without looking at Pansy.

“You should be.” Draco’s jaw clenched. “She could make your life a living hell.”

“Please.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Draco didn’t like Astoria’s amused tone. “You have to trust me on this.”

She eyed him with the haughty arrogance she displayed sometimes, much to his dismay. “Why should I? You never tell me the truth.”

Nott was watching Astoria with a smug smile. He wiggled his eyebrows at Draco. Draco’s chest tightened painfully and without thinking, he gripped Astoria’s wrist.

“Because they’re fucking dangerous, that’s why!”

With a violent jerk, Astoria pulled her hand free and knocked over Draco’s cup. The red wine spilled all over his face, robe and tie.

Goyle and Pansy burst into laughter. Nott and Zabini merely smiled. Goyle, his whole body shaking with laughter, almost fell from his chair; Pansy’s shrill laughter acted like a signal for the other students.

Gryffindors like Slytherins began to insult them for disrupting the class, while others from both houses also joined in the laughter. Draco heard people calling him names, but there were just as many insulting Pansy and Goyle. Weasley got to his feet, obviously relishing in the chaos, and started pelting Goyle with diverse broken pieces of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes pulled from his bag. Granger got up too and tried, very mildly, to restrain him. Behind them, Potter looked flabbergasted while his girlfriend laughed and clapped her hands. 

A panting Flitwick emerged from his office only to find he had lost control of the class. And still, Pansy shrieked louder than the others while Draco watched in horror.

“It’s Astoria’s fault, Professor!” Pansy said between breaths. “She attacked poor Draco!”

Astoria looked ready to strangle Pansy with her bare hands.

“Is that true, Astoria?” Flitwick asked with a weary look.

“No, Professor. As always, Pansy imagine things.”

Pansy quirked her eyebrows. “Excuse me? I don’t imagine things!”

“But you do,” Astoria said. She spoke calmly but Draco saw how pale she was. “Just like you live under the illusion that you’re an interesting person and an able witch.”

“Oooooh!” Ron Weasley pointed his finger at Pansy and roared with laughter.

Draco buried his face in his hands. Pansy wanted this. She wanted Astoria to attack her so she’d have an excuse to ask for her boyfriends’ help. He had never suspected Goyle would hit a girl before. Now he seriously considered it. And he imagined Nott cornering Astoria in the bathroom and his blood froze.

Shaking with outrage, Flitwick raised his wand. “Quiet, quiet please! Twenty points from Slytherin for disorderly behaviour!”

At these words, everyone in the classroom returned to a more appropriate behaviour. Ron Weasley, his eyes streaming, took back his seat, still laughing. Granger did the same with a slight smirk.

With a groan, Draco laid his head on the table, not caring about wine sticking to his robes and ignoring Astoria’s pleas to help him clean it.

“Why did you have to say anything…” Draco muttered as they exited the class together at the end of the lesson. “You never ever said anything before. Why today?”

Her face had taken a sickly tint. “I don’t— I don’t know what happened.” She stared at her shaky hands and hid them in the pockets of her robe. “It’s like I’m not in control anymore…”

“Clearly not.”

She was supposed to help him through this year, not be the death of him. Anxious and distracted, Draco elbowed his way through a crowd of hungry and overexcited students with Astoria in tow, and bumped into Potter who stood stupidly in his way.

“Ouch, sorry,” Draco said without thinking.

Potter met his eyes and blinked. Then Draco watched in disbelief as Potter reached out a hand, and his mouth opened as if he was about to say something, but the crowd swallowed Potter and Draco, turning away from him, crashed head first into Goyle.

He bounced back and landed into Astoria’s arms, but she slipped and almost knocked down a Gryffindor girl.

“Watch it!” the girl snarled at Astoria, who merely stared at her wide-eyed.

“Draco needs a girl to defend him,” Goyle said in his gruff voice.

“Get lost, Goyle!” Draco said, reaching into his pocket for his wand.

Draco was startled by his own boldness, but it was short lived. Glancing around in alarm, he noticed that the mass of students had already went down for lunch. It was just them, now.

Nott bared his teeth. “You’re going to let him talk to you like that, Greg?”

Behind Nott, Pansy was staring at Astoria with a mad expression as though she was about to rip her to shreds.

Goyle shrugged. “Nah, never.” He stepped into Draco’s face.

“No!” Astoria pulled Draco to her.

The rest happened so fast, and yet Draco watched it happen in slow motion. Goyle cleared his throat as though he was about to cough up something nasty, and spit directly into his face.

Surprise and Goyle’s saliva blinded him for an instant. When he opened his eyes, he saw Astoria had slid in front of him. Before he could move, she murmured a strange word that sounded both like a menace and a caress. She slipped her small hand into Goyle’s large paw, and his face went… blank.

Everyone froze in the middle of the corridor. Nott and Pansy watched in astonishment as Goyle’s eyes widened with obvious terror and he let out a choked sound. Draco had only one desire: to flee the scene. But his frightened feet refused to move. Then Astoria removed her hand from Goyle’s, and Goyle came back, as if he’d just awaken from a terrible dream. He made a pathetic sound like a wounded animal before crumpling to the floor.

Astoria chose this moment to grab Draco by the hand. She pushed past Pansy and pulled him into a run.

“We’ll get you, you bitch!” Pansy screamed.

They ran as fast as they could. Stunned, afraid for Goyle, for Astoria and for himself, Draco couldn’t hear anything but his own heart thumping in his ears. He squeezed Astoria’s hand so hard he felt her own mad pulse beating against his skin. She led them, consciously or not, toward the Owlery. They didn’t stop until they reached the top, burst in and earned themselves outraged glares from the resting birds. Astoria lingered by the door, making sure no one was following them.

Gasping for breath, Draco turned to her, his hair falling into his eyes.

“What have you done, you stupid girl!” His voice cracked.

Before him, Astoria didn’t move. “Did you just call me a stupid girl?” 

“I did!” he screamed, and started pulling out chunks of his hair. “I did! We did— we had a chance to— We still could have—” He struggled to fill his lungs with air. “Strike three, Astoria! Strike three!”

“Strike what?”

He was aware of the hysteria in his voice, but didn't care at this point. “Do you know what they’ll do to you now? Do you even care?”

She watched him with an air of incomprehension that dawned on pity, her blue eyes shining in the dimness of the Owlery. Of course she didn’t know. No one knew because it was his burden to bear.

Draco fell to his knees and started weeping.

“You don’t know what it’s like...” he said between sobs. “I can’t— I can’t protect you from them. I can’t do anything. I can’t do anything at all.”

He wept, and wept, each sob was like a powerful wave he couldn’t escape from, each time swiping him further from the shore. And yet, after several minutes of sobbing on the floor, amongst rodent bones and owl droppings, the knot in his throat began to relax, and he took his first real breath in weeks.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Astoria studied him through round eyes, as if she’d never seen tears before. He felt small before her. Small and weak.

“I’m such a bloody coward.” His body shuddered. “I can’t stand myself anymore.” She knelt by his side and he hung to her sleeve. “I know I deserve this, but I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

He sniffed, already feeling the growing embarrassment of having been seen in such a state by his only ally.

“I can protect you,” she said softly.

He gave a wry chuckle and let go of her. “Can you protect me from my life?”

She bit her lip. “I… I don’t know. But I can take _them_.” She glanced toward the exit.

He took out his silk handkerchief and blew his nose. “That I think you can.” He remembered Goyle, the look on his face. “Shit. What the hell did you do to him anyway?”

“Nothing he won’t recover from, don’t worry.”

She didn’t seem fully convinced about her statement, and oddly enough, it caused Draco to snort loudly in his tissue.

“Oh, fuck him. Fuck them all.”

She stared into his eyes. “It feels good, doesn’t it? To win one?”

He nodded for lack of words. To win one. He hadn’t win anything. Or maybe, he did… He had been unravelling for fear for her, and the whole time she was stronger than him. He could rest easy now. They’d come after him. But he could take it. That _was_ a win.

But what about that odd moment with Potter, in the crowd? Draco wondered as he slowly got to his feet. Potter was about to say something. Was it a warning? Was he trying to warn Draco that his enemies were right ahead?

No. Potter just missed an opportunity to throw in a little insult or two in the anonymity of the crowd. That was more likely.

“You saw me cry,” Draco said. He hid his face in his hands.

She said nothing.

He chuckled nervously. “I’ll have to kill you now.”

They walked toward the exit in slow steps.

“I’ll tell you what...“ She spoke softly, brushing off dirt from his cloak with care. “If you think you take me, you’re welcome to try.”

A wan smile spread across Draco’s face.“There had to be a better choice of words.”

And without thinking he pulled her into a hug.

 


	17. Harry - 6 - The Truth Is Always Worse

 

 

THE TRUTH IS ALWAYS WORSE.

 

 

 

“Christmas is almost here!” Ron shouted in the common room, startling a group of second year girls huddled around the fireplace.

Harry looked up from his Charms homework. Ron and Hermione had been kissing noisily for at least ten minutes. Only the prospect of the holidays, with his unlimited amount of food and presents, could have forced Ron to unglue himself from his girlfriend’s lips.

“Not exactly,” Harry said, checking the calendar. “It’s only the first of December.”

“We have exactly eighteen more days of this nightmare to go,” Ginny said with a sigh. “Though I’m excited about the Christmas party.”

Hermione nodded earnestly and Ron snatched her mouth again. Harry glanced at Ginny in surprise. “What Christmas party?”

Ginny scoffed, half-exasperated and half-amused. “You’re hopeless, Harry. Maxwell told us about it yesterday. The Christmas party? The evening before the holidays? Where we’ll be required to raise a glass to all of those we’ve lost?”

She stared into his baffled face and her expression soured. “Do you remember the people we’ve lost, at least?”

“Don’t be daft,” he said, breathing hard.

“Oh, and I’m daft, now?”

Ron emerged from Hermione’s embrace with a frown. “Hang on. What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing,” Harry and Ginny said in unison, though they were both glaring at each other.

But it was a lie.

After his talk with Astoria, Harry decided to drop the subject of Malfoy altogether, satisfied by the information she provided. Malfoy’s wand acting out of control was perfectly plausible. And Malfoy wouldn’t be threatened by dim-witted Goyle anyway. He could curse him anytime. Even with a faulty wand, right?

Embarrassed by his rather emotional outburst in front of a Slytherin girl he didn’t know, and worried she might tell Malfoy about it, Harry convinced himself his former rival was perfectly fine and tried to force his attention back to his homework, Quidditch, and his girlfriend Ginny.

A week passed, then ten days, where he believed himself to be adjusting better than ever to normal school life. But it was all a lie he fed himself when he closed his eyes at night. Yes, he was an irritable Quidditch captain and yes, he had trouble focusing on his homework… but the real problem was…

Ginny had started to feel like homework, despite her smoldering kisses and her eager hands. He would breathe in her perfume, nestled in the crook of her neck, and feel a rush of panic as he realised it left him indifferent. He would find it inconvenient, even uncomfortable, to hold her hand, which felt too hot and too limp in his own. He would find excuses to avoid meeting her in broom closets or under the Quidditch stands, where they could make out more of less without notice.

There was only one explanation for that, in his mind. It had to be because of Malfoy. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ginny’s reaction, when he told her of his intentions. She didn’t seem to care that someone was bullied on their school grounds, where people were supposed to be safe, really safe, at last. She just didn’t care.

And he did, and he couldn’t stop caring.

She blamed it on his _saviour complex_. A word that sounded like an insult, like something was wrong about him that he should work toward fixing. Despite her best intentions, Ginny had made Harry feel like his whole personality was, just like his _complex_ , ridiculous.

And then, a week ago, the infamous Charms lesson happened, with Pansy Parkinson’s obnoxious behaviour toward Malfoy’s friend, and Astoria’s response, full of venom —and truth. And strangest thing of all, Malfoy apologising to him when they ran into each other in the corridor. The fear, the vulnerability in Malfoy’s eyes wasn’t without reminding Harry of his helplessness when Harry confronted him in Myrtle’s bathroom years ago.

Harry decided to learn from his lessons and not tell anyone about his suspicions. He resolved to find out the truth himself. His friends didn’t believe him or cared enough about someone like Malfoy to help. Astoria couldn’t be trusted: she had lied to Harry’s face without flinching. Whether it was out of friendship or for a more sinister reason, it didn’t matter.

All Harry knew is that he had to take the matter into his own hands.

It made for his most interesting week since the beginning of his final year at Hogwarts. Though he wasn’t proud to hide his private investigation from Ron and Hermione, or even Ginny, he couldn’t deny the thrilling feeling in his stomach, his blood pumping fast through his veins, his senses in full alert… while trying to uncover a bullying case.

He decided to focus on two things. Paying attention and analising the group of Slytherin boys that was most likely to cause Malfoy problems: Goyle, Zabini, and Nott, to some extent. A most unlikely event, if Harry wanted to be perfectly honest. Goyle was as stupid as he was large, and the best candidate for Bully of the Year. But Zabini was too haughty and vain to care about Malfoy. And Nott was slimy and creepy, but outside the occasional snigger toward Gryffindor students, Harry didn’t have anything to reproach him at all, apart from being a Slytherin. He did have a Death Eater for a father, but Nott had never shown any allegiance to Voldemort. However, as they were grouped together more often than not and were directly acquainted with the Malfoy family, the three boys were the best candidates.

And then Pansy. Parkinson had been in love (or something like that) with Malfoy since her first years at Hogwarts, but Malfoy had apparently abandoned her for Astoria. That would explain why she publicly accused Astoria to have hurt her precious boyfriend. It wouldn’t be too far fetched to imagine that jealousy was behind her petty attitude. 

Since the Charms lesson, Harry had tried his best to spot any signs of real bullying toward Draco, but Goyle kept a healthy distance between Malfoy, Astoria and himself. Zabini paid them zero attention and Nott was only guilty of glancing toward them a lot. Pansy was different. Her face betrayed how enraged she was toward the both of them. But she didn’t have the courage nor the skill to bully a trained Death Eater like Malfoy. No way.

Harry paid a close look to Malfoy’s appearance, but he wasn’t bleeding, wasn’t bruised, and there were no tears in his eyes. He looked exhausted, malnourished, and more pitiable than ever, even reminding Harry of Lupin. But in all appearances, he wasn’t bullied at all.

So Harry almost gave up a second time, and already felt the passion that had animated him for the past few days wan with sadness.

Until that Potions lesson last Friday…

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny took a table together, ignoring Slughorn fussing about in his usual manner. “Come in, come in, everyone. Open your books page 113 and study the ingredients carefully. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He sank into the large armchair behind his desk, opened a puffy looking letter with a silver knife and began reading what looked like a very long letter.

In front of them, Ernie Macmillan shared a table with three younger Hufflepuff students, two boys and a girl. They were laughing about something, though Ernie looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

“Hi Ernie, what’s going on?” Harry asked, carefully setting his scales on the table.

Ernie turned to him, his lips tight. “Well… someone hexed Malfoy outside the Great Hall and a lot of people saw it, including McGonagall. She insisted to take Malfoy to the hospital wing, and she dragged him off as though he was a first year.” He pursed his lips in an expression of distaste. “Everybody laughed.”

“Including you, Ernie!” The laughing boy next to Ernie turned to Harry, ignoring Ernie’s murderous glare. “The way McGonagall was with him, pulling him by the arm, shushing him. He’s such a little girl, honestly.”

“Don’t make fun,” the girl said. “You can’t say things like that. It’s wrong.”

“Why is it wrong, exactly?” The boy asked with a slight frown. “We’re only joking.”

“Calling Malfoy a little girl, or calling him names,” the girl said with a serious air. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Considering Malfoy’s… You know. It makes you sound homophobic.”

Harry’s heart stopped in his chest. He heard a great clanking and shattering and realized he’d pushed his scales off the table. He bent over and scrambled to pick them up.

“Malfoy’s gay?” He struggled to put the scales back into place with shaky hands.

“Who knows,” Ernie said, throwing the girl a contemptuous look. “It’s just a name they call him. Probably to embarrass him, which I find personally d—”

“Who calls him gay?” Harry said.

Ernie looked away. “I don’t know,” he said in a much smaller voice. “Pretty much everyone now.”

“Of course Malfoy’s gay,” Ron said, shrugging. “Who ever doubted it? Pansy Parkinson looks like a grumpy little boy.”

Harry turned to him, irritated. “Oh, and what do you make of his new girlfriend?”

The tip of Ron’s ears blushed and he pretended to be absorbed in his manual of Potions. “Who says they’re together? They could just be friends, just like Hermione and—”

“Like you and Hermione?” Harry smirked.

“Like _you_ , and Hermione.” Ron grumbled.

“She’s not that good looking!” Ginny said angrily, making Harry jump. “She’s so pompous, with that super-tight ponytail of hers. She looks like Sirius’s mother from the portrait in Grimmauld Place.”

“You’re so mean,” Hermione said, chuckling under her breath. “She’s not that bad.”

Ron exchanged a look with Harry that said “ _women_ ”. Harry looked over his shoulder at the table Malfoy usually shared with Astoria, and his stomach sank. It was empty. Nott and Zabini were sitting one table ahead, absorbed in their Potions manual.

Harry turned back to the Hufflepuff table. “Anyway, I don’t see how that’s okay to just call someone gay, especially as an insult. If you hear it from anyone, make them stop immediately.”

“I agree.” Ginny said, and Harry turned to her, surprised. “It’s not funny at all to make fun of people’s sexual orientation. Even if it’s stupid Malfoy.”

Ernie nodded absently. “But in the meantime, is he really gay or—”

“Blimey!” Ron cut across Ernie with a look of total shock. “That would explain why he’s always been obsessed about you, Harry!”

“Oh, great,” Ginny said, glaring at the ceiling.

“Malfoy was never obsessed about me,” Harry said, ignoring the sudden burning sensation in his cheeks.

Ernie’s eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline.

Ginny snorted. “The only one obsessed here is _you_.”

“Oooh, yes,” Hermione said, slamming her Potions manual shut. “We haven’t heard about that for a while! Do you still believe he’s—”

She was interrupted by Malfoy himself barging into the classroom, looking pale and disheveled, but in one piece. Everyone turned to look at him. The Hufflepuffs boys sniggered, Ernie hid his face in his book, Ginny rolled her eyes and Ron elbowed Harry with a silly grin.

“You’re ten minutes late, Mr Malfoy!” Slughorn boomed, though late himself, still immersed in his letter.

Malfoy hurried to his table but stopped in his tracks when he found it empty. He glanced around the room quickly, met Harry’s eyes, and drew in a sharp breath. Ignoring Harry, he straightened himself, took his seat and reached out for his book in his back, casting nervous glances toward the door.

In front of him Zabini and Nott still looked absorbed in their own books.

Then there was a slight knock on the door, and Astoria herself entered the classroom, her head held high despite her infamous ponytail, that Ginny had just berated, looking rather loose. Her hair was sticking out in every direction, making her look rebellious and wild. Harry glanced sideways at Ginny and Hermione. They probably were thinking the same thing, but Ginny looked quite dismayed.

“You’re late, Mr— Miss Astoria!” Slughorn said in surprise when he recognised her. He looked at loss for words, for once. “That’s not like you at all. Don’t make me write to your mother!” he added with a wink.

Astoria rolled her eyes and Harry felt an irrepressible need to laugh and be noticed by her. She joined Malfoy at his table. He dragged his chair toward her so that their shoulders touched and started whispering agitatedly to each other. Harry realised with shock and shame that he wanted to join them, listen to their conversation and even offer a bit of advice. Instead he stared at them with ~~longing~~ curiosity, a flow of questions bubbling up in his head.

Why were they late? Who hexed Malfoy? Did they corner her as well? Zabini and Nott looked perfectly innocent, but could they be trusted?

But other questions floated in his mind, knocking around the others.

Were Malfoy and Astoria a couple?

Was Malfoy gay?

Why should it matter to him anyway?

Eventually Slughorn put down his letter and started the lesson. They spent the double period practicing the first stages of a complicated healing potion, but Harry’s attention was elsewhere, and so were Malfoy’s and his friend’s, who kept whispering to each other with such agitation that Harry was certain they had cast a silencing charm around them, or else he would be able to hear their conversation, or at the very least Nott and Zabini would.

At the end of the lesson Slughorn went from table to table to look at their progress and turned his nose at Harry’s potion.

“Not your day either today, m’boy,” he said sadly. “Still, you’ll make a good Auror.”

He passed the other students, complimenting some, like Hermione who blushed with pleasure, clicking his tongue at others, like Nott’s, until he reached Malfoy and Astoria and slammed his pudgy hand on their table.

“Very poor, Miss Winterburns, very poor.”

Astoria, who seemed to remember she was indeed in a classroom, peered into her own cauldron, blanched, and sunk back into her chair, her hair still sticking madly out of her loose ponytail.

Slughorn next glanced over at Malfoy’s murky looking potion and quirked his eyebrow.

“Even worse, Mr Malfoy… Professor Snape always told me you were proficient in our subject, but I never got to notice it. It must have escaped me, somehow…”

Students from every house sniggered around the classroom, including Ron and Ginny. Harry shook his head at Ron, who merely grinned and shrugged in return.

“I wonder…” Professor Slughorn said, holding his chin in his hand. “I’ve never had any problem with Miss Astoria before, you know. She’s shown true excellence during her O.W.L. exam. But now that you two… well.” He watched Malfoy through squinted eyes, stroking his great walrus mustache. “I hope you’re not a bad influence on my best student.”

To much of Harry’s surprise, Draco held Slughorn’s gaze.

“Really?” He sounded as though he didn’t care about anything anymore. “ _Really_?”

“Watch your tone, Mr Malfoy,” Slughorn said, taken aback. “Or I’ll have to give you detention.”

In front of him, Nott smirked and winked at Zabini on his left.

“Did you hear this?” Hermione whispered next to him, her face flushed. “He called her his BEST student!” She grabbed his sleeve. “Harry? You told him I was the best in our year!”

“Well, technically she’s not in your year,” Ernie Macmillan said in his usual posh voice, turning around to face her. “B— but she’s only great at Potions, you know,” he added when he saw Hermione’s face. “You’re the best at everything else, obviously.”

Harry ignored them. Lost into the sight of the thick black concoction swirling in his cauldron, he decided it was time to visit the Slytherin common room once again.

The only difficulty had been to find the right time. There was nothing he could do during the weekend, as they had been drowning in homework. Last night Quidditch practice went on for too long and Harry fell asleep as soon as his head touched his pillow.

Now he knew, the right time was tonight.

Harry finished his Charms essay just as Ron and Hermione snuck out of the common room to — their words — “patrol the corridors”. He tried his best to avoid looking at Ginny next to him, but he could feel her anger and her confusion all the same.

When he packed up his quills and his books and announced he would be turning in early, she glanced at him in surprise.

“It’s barely ten.”

“I want to get some sleep.”

“No, you want to avoid me.”

He opened his mouth with the intention to reassure her, but found himself at loss for words. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Just do it.”

“What?”

“Dump me. Go ahead, since you want it so badly.”

He was even more speechless now. “Ginny—”

“Look at you.” Her eyes were brimming with angry tears. “You can defeat dark wizards but you can’t gather enough courage to break it off with me.”

Now that was a bit much. There were times when her resemblance to her short-tempered mother seriously got on his nerves.

“I don’t want to break up with you,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “What I want is some bloody air, if that’s not too much to ask!”

Ginny stepped back, her eyes wide. “Well… I’ll give some air, you can count on it!” She tossed her hair back in a furious gesture, picked up her bag and set off toward the girls’ dormitories looking murderous.

Harry stared after her, his mouth agape, and did nothing. He could, in theory call after her, or run, or shout “I’m sorry!” But he only glared after her, annoyed at her nagging. He didn’t have time for her right now, no, because he had to save Draco fucking Malfoy.

Something which apparently no one could understand.

Cursing under his breath, he rushed to his own dormitory to make sure once again thathe had everything he needed for his special mission tonight.

Harry waited a long time for Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus to fall asleep. Finally, around half past-midnight, he snuck out of the common room, hidden by the Invisibility Cape. He went down into the dungeons unnoticed by Filch or Peeves with the help of The Marauder’s Map.

He had no idea how to enter the common room. He would have to guess the password, since it was too late in the night for anybody from Slytherin to show up and allow him to sneak in with them unnoticed.

As he drew closer to the doorway to the Slytherin common room, Harry checked the Marauder’s Map once again to make sure it was safe.

To his surprise, Harry found Malfoy’s tiny dot moving on the map, followed by those of Nott and Goyle. Holding his breath, he hastened his pace.

He first voices. Nott’s and Goyle’s, then Malfoy’s. Harry tiptoed around the corner and took in the scene.

The common room passageway was open, but Goyle stood in the way, barring the passage. Malfoy was sitting on the floor, shivering in his pyjamas. Crouching before him, Nott was holding a quilted bedspread in the green and silver colors of Slytherin.

“… Or you’ll stay here all night. So, are you going to tell me now?” Nott was saying as Harry drew closer.

Malfoy shook his head and hugged his knees. Nott’s face betrayed his impatience.

“Then you’ll spend all night here, for what you did to Pansy.”

Malfoy glared at him. “I haven’t done anything to Pansy. I was with McGonagall in the hospital wing, and you know it. You’re the one who hexed me, aren’t you?”

Frowning, Harry flattened himself against the stone wall, a few feet away from the group. He took his out his wand, just in case.

Nott got up, and looked at Goyle, who shrugged dimly.

“We didn’t hex you, Malfoy. I’m not stupid enough to do it in plain sight in front of everyone.”

“Who, then?”

“How should I know? You’re the most hated person in that castle. It should make you happy, you finally achieved being number one in this school.”

Goyle laughed. Malfoy looked almost bored by Nott’s words, which implied it wasn’t the first time Nott tried to humiliate him. Harry took a step closer.

“Your girlfriend did it, then.” Nott said sharply. “Didn't she?”

Malfoy shrugged, but Goyle grabbed Nott’s arm, his eyes wide.

“Hey, we should go, now.”

“Why? What’s wrong with you? Are you afraid of a little girl?”

To Harry’s surprise, Goyle nodded. Nott shook his arm away with disgust. He squatted next to Malfoy again. Harry was surprised to hear him speak softly, as if talking to a disobedient pet.

“This isn’t over, Malfoy. You owe us now. After what she did to Goyle, you know we’re never going to let that pass.”

Malfoy looked straight ahead, avoiding Nott’s eyes. “I know,” he said. “Don’t worry, I know.”

“So tell me where is it that you hide, and I promise you,I’ll let you back in, and you can sleep in your bed.”

“I’m not going to tell you. You can leave me here all night, I really don’t care.”

Goyle tapped Nott on the shoulder. “We can’t leave him here all night! Someone will s—”

Nott silenced him with a scathing look, but said nothing. He took a deep breath.

“All right, Malfoy. You can come back in. But if you do, Goyle will beat you. You choose.”

What are you doing? Harry spoke to Malfoy in his head. Fight back. You can do it, you can hex them. Fight back.

To Harry’s surprise and shock, Malfoy looked at the blanket in Nott’s hand, then at Nott’s face.

“All right. Whatever.”

The surprise on Nott’s face wasn’t nearly equal to the one Harry experienced, watching in horror as Nott grinned and helped Malfoy to his feet. He threw the quilted blanket over Malfoy and squeezed his shoulders in a weirdly affectionate way. Goyle too looked more nonplussed than usual, and even a little worried, but he moved aside to let them pass.

Harry hesitated to follow them. Why would he? To... protect Malfoy? But then he would have to reveal himself, and that wouldn’t be without consequences.

Harry hesitated too long and the stone door shut before his eyes. Behind it, Malfoy would be taking a beating from his former best mate. And judging from his own passive attitude, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Despite the horror that the scene inspired him, Harry turned around and started running back toward his own common room, his heart beating excitedly.

He had been right all along.

He wanted to tell Ron and Hermione, and to some extent, wanted to tell Ginny, rub it in her face. But he stopped in the corridor, his hand still clutching his wand tightly.

Proof or no proof, he had no guarantee they would want to help Malfoy at all. And telling them would be putting himself at risk. Hermione would sigh, Ron would grin and make smart arse jokes, Ginny would be infuriated. If he wanted to help Malfoy and put an end to this situation, he would have to do it on his own, and he would have to be smart about it.

And it had to be a secret.

He felt a vague sadness at the thought of not being able to ask his best friends to embark on another adventure with him, but on the other side, it felt good not to have to justify himself to anyone for once. He was thrilled to have something of his own, his own very special covert rescue mission. 

He shivered when he realised that he shared such a secret with Draco Malfoy, of all people.

Life was full of surprises, some of them way beyond the scope of his own imagination.

 

 

 


	18. Draco - 9 - Transfigurated

“I’ve had a fantastic week.” Draco said after his last bite of lemon cake.

“Watch it,” Astoria said, her nose buried into an old dusty book. “The week isn’t over.”

“It’s Friday. The week is over.”

“It’s not. We still have Transfiguration.”

“And then, the weekend. Where fun happens. You know… Fun.”

Draco tried to pry the book from Astoria’s fingers, but she resisted. He gave up and poured himself some pumpkin juice. Lunch had barely started but Astoria and Draco had come as early as possible to avoid spending too much time at the same table as Nott and the others. Draco was ravenous and ate his whole meal in less than ten minutes. Astoria had barely touched her kidney pie.

“You’re not a very cheerful person, are you?” Draco said, amused.

She raised her index finger. “Constant vigilance.”

Draco sighed loudly, in an effort to get her attention. She glanced sideways at him.

“Please, do tell. How was your week so fantastic?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Draco said. “I’ve had good grades. Not great, but good enough. Only two detentions, and I’m up to date with my homework, thanks to you. I think I’ve put on weight, and I only took one beating. And by the way, Goyle has lost most of his enthusiasm since you… whatever you did to him. His heart’s not in it. And since Pansy tried to pull your hair, she has left me alone. ”

Astoria grimaced. “She has succeeded in pulling my hair, if you recall, and worse, she made me late for class.”

“Yes, and she’s been very quiet since. You wouldn’t happen to know why?

Astoria closed her book and waved away the thin cloud of dust that flew from the cover.

“I’m going to Hogsmeade tomorrow,” she said.

Draco frowned. “You said you nev—”

“I know better than you what I said. But I’m going tomorrow anyway.” She stabbed her kidney pie with her fork. “Do you need me to bring something back?”

“No,” he said after a moment. “I don’t need anything.”

That wasn’t exactly true. But what he wanted, he was afraid to ask, or he didn’t know how.

Now that his former mates were more like a distant nuisance than a real threat, he felt it was time to take action to secure his future once outside these walls.

He had planned to talk to her tomorrow, while everyone was away in Hogmeade. He had planned to tell her about his intentions, tell her the whole truth, and see where that would take them.

Now that she was going away with the others, his plans were thwarted.

“Are you going to this Christmas party thing?” he asked, more to conceal his annoyance than from real interest.

“Of course. My mother will be there.”

“Your mother?” Draco watched Astoria with raised eyebrows. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Astoria chewed on her piece of pie thoughtfully. “She has been a member of the Order of the Phoenix since the first war. I guess that deserved an invitation. Are you going to come? Maxwell said everybody has to come.”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t think so, no. I’m not so sure Death Eaters are much welcome to a remembrance party.”

“Former Death Eaters,” Astoria said. She pushed her pie away.

“Even then.”

“Professor Snape was a former Death Eater and he would be there if he could,” Astoria said.

“Somehow I doubt it,” Draco said, and meant it.

She packed her dusty book into her bag. “Come, anyway. It will be good for people to see you— ”

“What, with you?” Draco laughed nervously.

She tilted her head. “I meant to say repenting.”

“Right.”

First he had to get through the meeting with the W.A.N.D.S., and now the Remembrance Christmas Party where his presence would remind everyone how he actively participated in the death of several of their school mates and other loved ones, including their Headmaster.

She seemed to read the distress on his face, because she smiled and squeezed his arm.

“How’s your week now?”

He scoffed. “You’re ruthless, you know that.”

Draco got up and his gazed drifted mindlessly toward the Gryffindor table, where Potter was eating surrounded by his friends. Their eyes met. And Potter did something astonishing.

He smiled.

A thin smile, awkward but still monstrous. Draco whipped around, unable to hide his shock.

“What is it now?” Astoria asked, staring into his pale face.

“Potter just smiled at me,” Draco said in a hollow voice.

“That’s nice,” she said without interest.

“No, you don’t get it.” He grabbed her arm. “Something bad is going to happen.”

She seemed amused. “Is Harry Potter the Grim?”

“Worse.”

“What could be worse than death?” She said and pulled him toward the exit. “Let’s go to class. Then you won’t have to worry about Potter killing you if you stay put in the common room for the whole weekend.”

Potter had never smiled at him. Never. Not like that anyway. He smirked, he sneered, he laughed at him occasionally. But he never smiled. Perhaps he was possessed, perhaps he was planning something awful, or perhaps he was pitying Draco. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good news.

Draco knew, deep down, how ridiculous is was that he was keener to believe that Potter’s smile was a bad omen than admitting that it could have been a genuine thing.

But the Transfiguration lesson was a nightmare if there ever was one, so much that Draco actually started to believe his own words that a smile from Potter was like a visit from the Grim.

“Human transfiguration is the worst,” Draco said after several failed attempts to modify the appearance of his most Malfoy trait, his sleek blond hair.

“You said it was your favourite subject, with Potions,” Astoria said, her eyes screwed shut in concentration while attempting to transfigure her own hair.

“Yes, but it’s the worst. How am I supposed to do it with this stupid wand?”

Astoria turned to him. She had managed to turn her hair a very Weasley shade of red, which deeply unsettled Draco.

“How do I look?”

He shuddered. “Thank Merlin for your horrid ponytail for once.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re so awful, you’ll never find love with an attitude like that.”

Draco tried again to change the color of his hair. Finding love. Insane notion. He was a monster here. Forever tainted by his actions. He had decided that, should Astoria refuse him, his best chance at a normal life would be to leave the Malfoy name and legacy altogether and move to another country. He could move to France, perhaps… Or probably not.

He wasn’t so desperate.

Italy, then, to get rid of the rain altogether. Perhaps he would find love there, after all. Someone who wouldn’t know his name, or his past, someone with tan skin and dark hair and—

He heard a few laughs here and there around him and snapped out of his reverie.

“Excellent results, Mr Malfoy,” Flitwick squeaked from his desk. “Only try to moderate your efforts next time.”

Alarmed by the increasing hilarity from other students and Astoria’s round eyes, Draco stared at his reflexion in the mirror in front of him and gasped in horror. His short and shiny white-blond hair had disappeared, replaced by a terrifying mess of dark strands that flew into his eyes and tickled the back of his neck.

“He looks a bit like Potter,” some Ravenclaw fiend shouted from the first row.

Everybody laughed and Draco waved his wand fiercely, trying to reverse his appearance back to normal, to no avail. Draco felt himself blush with rage.

Astoria turned to him. “Let me help.”

He saw Potter from the corner of his eye, and noticed with some relief that he wasn’t laughing, but looked rather unsettled.

Astoria did her best to fix this mess, but at the end of the lesson, Draco’s hair, while back to their sleek appearance, was still a dark shade of brown.

When the bell rang the end of the lesson, Draco left the classroom feeling desperate for the quiet of his common room, but there was a commotion in the staircase (Peeves had smeared some strange substance on the stairs one floor below) and everyone came to a stop in the middle of the stairs, trapping Draco between the masses of students.

A few feet ahead of Draco, Granger demanded people to make space for her and Weasley. “Prefects! Move aside! If you let me through, I’ll fix this mess. Yes, thank you.”

Potter and the Weasley girl followed them. Potter glanced over his shoulder at Draco before the crowd swallowed him.

“For fuck’s sake,” Draco muttered, irritated at Potter’s unfathomable obsession with him.

“What is it?” A voice said in front of him. The boy turned to glare at Draco. He was a Gryffindor in his year, one of Potter’s useless friends, whose name Draco had never taken the trouble to remember.

“Nothing,” Draco said with annoyance. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Sure. Nice hair, earlier. You’re attempting to look like Harry so people will finally like you?”

“What?”

“Or he’s in love with him,” his friend, some bloke called Dean, said with a wink.

The first insult that came to Draco’s mind was a word he hoped never to say, or think again. And yet it came rushing back. Draco blanched and tightened his lips shut. He looked away, but his embarrassment showed through his burning cheeks.

“Oh look, he is!” the Gryffindor said.

“Malfoy’s in love with Potter!” Dean said.

Everybody in the staircase started laughing, adding to Draco’s shame and building rage.

“You forgot your book.” Astoria wriggled past a group of giggling girls and stopped before him. “What’s going on? Why aren’t we moving?”

“Peeves,” the Gryffindor said, looking at Astoria with interest. He straightened his tie and his robes. “You’re Astoria, right? I think I saw you fight with us when the Death Eaters attacked the school. It was you, wasn't it?”

Astoria gave a small nod.

“Then why are you friends with this traitor? Are you the only one at school who doesn’t know he’s a Death Eater?”

To Draco’s surprise, Astoria looked uncomfortable and stared at her feet. Draco stepped before her.

“Leave her alone,” he said in a threatening voice.

He heard a familiar squeal of laughter behind him and knew Pansy and Nott were not far. He was right about his omen. Something terrible would happen, right here, in this staircase. But this time…

Without thinking, he took out his wand.

“Wait, you’re going to curse us now?” the Gryffindor sneered, drawing out his own wand.

Finnigan. That was his name. Draco had nothing against him. Not anymore. But perhaps he was ready to curse someone, anyone, after all. Never mind the consequences. At this point he would have tried anything to make everybody just shut the fuck up.

But someone was elbowing through the crowd, making his way up the stairs, pushing past laughing students with brute force. A few curses later, Potter emerged from the crowd, wild-haired, his face set and his wand drawn.

“What’s going on here?” His voice rang fierce in the corridor, making everyone pause, including Draco, who felt his stomach sink.

Saint Potter was the last thing he needed now.

“Don’t worry Harry,” Finnigan’s well-tamed boyfriend Dean said. “It’s only Malfoy. We can take him.”

Draco’s fingers tightened around his wand, but he quickly lowered it, discouraged to start a fight he knew he would definitely lose.

To everyone’s surprise, Harry stopped in front of him.

“Are they… er… bothering you?” he asked with a quick, nervous glance at Draco.

The crowd fell silent. Shocked, Draco sneaked a look at Astoria who for once looked completely astounded.

“What are you talking about, Potter?” Draco said, snarling.

He had no intention of looking weak in front of demented Potter, who had in all evidence transfigured his brain instead of his hair, to act so stupidly in front of everyone.

“Yes, Harry, what are you talking about?” Finnigan asked, his eyes as round as teacups.

Everyone was staring but it didn’t seem to deter Potter. He stood there, his chest puffed out and his eyebrows knitted together, as if, to Draco’s horror, he was about to give a speech in the middle of a crowd of what appeared to be the most relevant seventh and eighth year Hogwarts students.

“I’ve been made aware of… of something that worries me,” Potter said in a clear voice. “That somehow, in this school, our school, for which many of our friends have sacrificed their lives, it's fine to torment and humiliate other people. Well, let me tell you this: I won’t be a part of it, and I won’t condone it.”

He glanced up at Draco. Draco stared at him through squinted eyes, his rage building up like a monster around his embarrassment.

“Is this what we’ve become?” Harry asked to the listening crowd, apparently oblivious to Draco’s turmoil. “Is this how we reward their bravery? By becoming the very thing we wanted to destroy? Malfoy, here”— Draco startled at the mention of his name — “is one of us now, whatever we might think about it. And it’s wrong to band together for the sole purpose of putting someone down. It’s not what we fought for. It’s what we fought against. We are better than that. Or at least, I hope we are.”

What the fuck was he doing? Singling him out like this. Draco would have happily taken another beating from Goyle instead of suffering this humiliation. Now Potter had proven to everyone Draco was nothing more than a wimp that needed protection. Well fucking done.

Granger’s head appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Some students resumed their walk down in silence, Peeves’s trap having been taken care of.

“All done.” Granger closed her mouth when she took in the awkward scene. Behind her, the Weasley girl watched Potter through narrowed eyes, her lips tight.

Finnigan and his boyfriend, as well as other Potter fans, hovered awkwardly in the middle of the stairs. Behind Draco, Astoria poked him in the ribs to signal him to move on, but Potter was in his way.

“I’m sorry,” Finnigan said to Draco, though he looked at him as though he was a new-born Blast-Ended Screwt.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered.

Draco was very aware of Pansy’s laughter in his back, and he knew already the kind of slurs he would be getting for having Potter “rescue him” publicly between classes. Now seething, he imagined himself throwing his fist into Potter’s well meaning face.

“Well,” Potter said, looking up at Draco, his cheeks flushed, “I guess—”

“Oh suck my dick, Potter!” Draco spat, his voice quivering with rage.

Harry stared at him, his mouth agape. So did everyone else in the corridor.

“Wh— what did you say?”

Behind him Astoria shook his sleeve. Draco ignored her. He held Potter’s bewildered gaze.

“I said, suck my dick, Potter! I don’t need your fucking help.”

Color drained from Potter’s face. A stream of incomprehensible gibberish gushed from his mouth. Draco experienced a powerful, savage glee at the sight of his rival’s mortified face, but didn’t show it. He merely glared at Potter, his nostrils flaring.

“What are you waiting for? Get out of my face.”

Potter stared a long time into Draco’s sneering face, seemingly at loss for words. Then with a hefty sigh, he whirled around and stomped down the stairs. His friends followed, but the Weasley girl threw Draco a murderous look before taking off.

Draco ignored her and turned to Astoria. “What the hell was that?”

Astoria shook her head. “I—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Finnigan approached Draco, his face red. “He was trying to help you, you bloody idiot. And this is how you thank him?”

The leftovers of students around approved by showering him with lukewarm insults.

“Screw you, Malfoy,” Dean Thomas said, his eyes dark.

Draco, who realised he didn’t give two shits about their opinion in this instance, eyed them with contempt.

“Oh get in fucking line.”

He heard Pansy shriek with laughter, but didn’t feel anything about it. He felt Astoria’s presence in his back and knew she probably frowned on his attitude right now, but he didn’t care about that either. He knew students from other houses wouldn’t forgive him his rudeness toward the Boy-Who-Saved-Them. But it really, really didn’t matter.

Inwardly, he couldn’t help smiling.

All he saw in his mind was the shocked, mortified face of Potter when he told him to sod off.

Fighting Harry Potter was like riding a horse. A truly skillful activity, painless to pick up after a long time, and most rejuvenating.

He should do it more often.

Draco ignored the jeers and the mocking whistles and went to his common room with a small smile on his face, feeling light.


	19. Draco 10- The Last Hiding Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there,
> 
> This story is on hold, because I don't have time to write it anymore. I will get back to it eventually. And I'm really sorry for those who followed it every week.
> 
> I will get back to it as soon as I can. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this story thus far.  
> Z.

 

 

 

COMING SOON

 

 

 

Draco is alone while everyone is in Hogsmeade. Or so he thought.

 

 

 


End file.
